


Pride & Prejudice & Superheroes

by a_simple_rainbow



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_simple_rainbow/pseuds/a_simple_rainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine, the reluctant superhero amateur with the lamest backstory ever. Kurt, the apparent snob with an impatient attitude and an aversion to expressing gratitude. They hate one another, but the universe has other plans if the way they keep running into each other is anything to go by. </p><p>College & Superhero AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: The Genesis of The Superhero And The Hate

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, all the thanks to notthetoothfairy for betaing this and single-handedly keeping me from deleting it.

**_The First-Ever Real Superhero?_ **

_You might think that caped superheroes are a thing of fiction and that reality sticks to the brave but ordinary man, turned hero sans cape, but one Rachel Berry begs to differ._

_The 21 year old actress was walking home after rehearsal when, taking a detour through one of those dark city alleys, she was accosted by a man with a knife. She claims to have screamed for help. Lucky for her, someone heeded the call, a man – allegedly just in time to save her from being stabbed. She describes the whole thing as happening so fast she barely realized what was happening, but the helpful stranger squeezed himself between the two, taking the element of surprise as an opportunity to push the attacker away with a few punches and, then – and this is where it gets tricky – before the man could fall back on them with his knife, Miss Berry swears the attacker’s cellphone exploded in his pocket with such spectacle that the man fell to the ground, clutching his hip in pain, and giving her and the helpful stranger the opportunity to escape._

_While she claims she has no idea how the man was capable of doing what he did, she still swears by it. “He looked very still and focused on something just a second before it happened.”_

_Her story continues with her taking the temporary distraction to leave the alley, but having to return to retrieve her anonymous helper who she describes as looking a little perturbed and shell-shocked at his own actions. Once he snapped out of it, she says, he took off running away from both attacker and attackee._

_Because it was so dark, Miss Berry explains she was unable to get a good look at her savior, but she did snap a picture of his retreating back, and asks anyone who can recognize it (or maybe even the man in question himself) to look her up, “so I can express my eternal gratitude properly and give him tickets to my opening night on Broadway!”_

(picture of the back of a man wearing a thick, classy pea coat, dark wash jeans with nice expensive looking shoes, and a head of gelled hair)

_Edit: Latest development! A man has since been admitted to the ER, with injuries similar to those described in Miss Berry’s story and has been identified, by her, as the attacker. He, too, claims that it was the man who made the electronic device explode, causing third degree burns in his hip and groin area, and wants him to be brought to justice for the damage made._

-x-

“Dude!” Sam gasps. “Do it again!”

Blaine resists the urge to cry. “I can’t!” He pushes himself off the couch. “I told you I can’t really control it, and besides, it’s not…- I mean, it could be some kind of freak coincidence, right?”

“Dude. You know what the marvel guys would say, right?”

Blaine cringes. “Six times is definitely not a freak coincidence…?”

Sam’s jaw slackens entirely. “Six times?! This has happened six times already?”

Blaine throws himself back on the couch, face down and buried in the fluffy cushions.

There was the first time when Blaine stubbed his toe on his nightstand and his electronic alarm clock blew up just as he let out a string of curses – written off as a coincidence. There was the time he missed his bus by two seconds, already being way too late to class, and next thing he knows the bus is halting to a stop, smoke coming out of its engine in alarming dark grey – also written off as a coincidence. The third time it happened was, of all places, at the comic book store, when he overheard a bunch of kids sniggering and making fun of a new gay superhero and one of their wristwatches went off with a puff of smoke and the boy clutched his burnt wrist with tears in his eyes – the coincidental nature of these happenings started faltering. The fourth was in a nightclub when a guy kept getting handsier (and Blaine would go away) and handsier (and Blaine would go away again) and handsier (and next thing Blaine knew the whole stereo system blew up) – he stayed up all night thanking god no one actually got hurt and avoiding the thought that it might have been his doing. The fifth time, he’d been in the shower for half a minute when the water turned ice-cold, for the fifth time that week, and above his groaned out “SAM!” he managed to hear the demise of his brand-new shaving machine – that’s when it definitely stopped being a coincidence. The sixth time was a dark alley, a girl in trouble and an effort to actually make it happen in a rush of adrenaline.

“I should go see a doctor,” he whimpers.

“NO!” Sam practically yells. “Are you insane? They’ll make a lab rat out of you! Have you learned nothing out of watching SHIELD? What are you, trying to get yourself killed or turned into… into some remote controlled robot? You need to stay put and, and, and-”

The climax of Blaine’s despair comes accompanied by the sound of an explosion. It’s small this time, thank god. But they both still jump out of their skin, hands clutching chests and eyes wide. There’s a small cloud of smoke coming from the coffee table – a black churned mark on it, and pieces of burnt plastic and buttons and battery springs.

Blaine can feel tears springing to his eyes. “I blew up the remote control,” he covers his face with his hands and throws himself back down.

“You need to calm down dude, or you’ll blow up the television or something.”

Blaine whimpers, and something crackles.

-x-

They leave to sit in Central Park. The worst that can happen in Central Park is Blaine blowing up someone’s phone, which he’ll feel infinitely guilty about, but it’s still the lesser evil.

“Okay, so obviously we need to get you in control of it,” Sam says, barely trying to mask his excitement. “I could totally be your… guide or whatever.”

“You have no idea what having superpowers is like.” Blaine feels silly just referring to it as _superpowers_. He blows stuff up when he’s angry, that’s about it.

“But I have read waaaay more comics than you, and I know dialogues from heart, and-”

“That’s like someone teaching medicine because they watched Grey’s Anatomy. I still think I should-”

“Oh! Speaking of medicine! You should learn CPR and that kind of stuff, it might come in handy on the streets, and we should start brainstorming ideas for a suit, and-”

“What?” Blaine gasps. “I’m not just… I’m not going to turn into a superhero.”

He’s not about to admit he’s thought about it. Multiple times. It’s an idiotic idea, but he can’t help it.

“Of course you are! You’ve been chosen by fate.”

As far as origin stories go, Blaine thinks he probably has the worst ever. It’s got to be even worse than Ant Man. Although, granted, Ant Man’s origin story isn’t the truly bad part about his superhero’ing – rather, the lame superpower and even worse name might be what makes him the butt of a lot of Sam’s jokes.

If he’d known what was in store for him, then Blaine wouldn’t have laughed half as hard at those jokes, because this has got to be karma. Even if Ant Man is fictional and no one would think making fun of fictional characters would affect your very real life karma, he’s sure that that might have been it.

“ _No.”_ he keeps his voice low, hoping that it might help his annoyance not reach breaking point. “A microwave exploded on my face while I was making a mugcake. I was not chosen by anything other than bad luck. And I can’t actually control this, so chances are I’d just end up hurting more than helping people, and-”

“That explosion was wasted on you,” Sam frowns. “It should’ve been me.”

Blaine glares but makes an effort to get his temper back in check.

“I can’t just be a superhero, Sam. This isn’t a comic book. I can’t really control it, and besides… What am I supposed to do with this superpower? Like… wow… I blow stuff up. Fantastic.”

“We’ve been over this, dude. You’ll learn to control. And besides, maybe this is just the first superpower manifesting.”

“What do I do if the bad guy doesn’t have anything electronic on them? I can’t stop bullets.”

“You don’t know that.” Sam points out, undeterred. Blaine balls up his coffee receipt and throws it in Sam’s face. “Look, you already know a little boxing, right? You got a good right hook. You just gotta get back in the gym and maybe take up a few more techniques. Dude, Black Widow doesn’t have any superpowers, and she’s like, the most badass out of the avengers.”

“And fictional…”

“And the hottest.”

“I’m not going to turn into Scarlett Johansson, you know that?” Blaine chuckles.

“A guy can dream, dude. A guy can dream.”

-x-

That night they order Chinese and include soup so that they can have the illusion of healthy options. Sam heats it up, while Blaine sets up the Avengers marathon Sam is forcing him to watch. Sam hasn’t yet shut up about it, and Blaine really wishes he would because he could use a single second of his time where he’s not worried about turning into a freak. The only reason he even agreed to it is because he knows how absorbed Sam gets into the movies and he might actually get a moment to himself.

Sam brings over the food with a grin. “Okay, use this as an inspiration for costumes!”

Blaine closes his eyes and tries not to get angry. The problem really isn’t Sam. He’s just being his adorable self, trying to make light of an insane situation.

He takes a deep breath and takes a spoonful of his soup. Except he spits it back out at once, tongue burning up.

“Shit!” Blaine gasps. “Did you boil this?!”

Sam frowns. “No, I barely even- _DUDE_!”

-x-

_Blaine’s To-Do List In The Pursuit Of Becoming A Superhero, As Written By Sam, The Mentor:_

_1 – Improve fighting skills_

_2 – Learn CPR and other first aid stuff_

_3 – Learn cop lingo_

_4 – Get a radio scanner???_

_5 – Keep eye out for more superpowers to come_

_6 – Find a secret-identity name_

_7 – Get a suit_

_8 – Take up Yoga_

-x-

“Ugh, why does yoga have to be at the crack of dawn?” Blaine mumbles, melting toward the coffee shop counter, and dropping his head on it, eyes already half closed, only to jerk back up as soon as he feels the moisture from the dishrag Sam just wiped it clean with.

Sam gives him a look. “You’re waking up early to go practice yoga, I’m waking up early to work at the campus café and deal with rude people. Do you really want to play this game?”

Blaine drops his head onto his arm instead and looks up at Sam with a pout. “No, I’m sorry,” he says as he watches Sam clean the rest of the counter. “But why am I doing this again?”

“Yoga helps you stay calm and centered, and you need that kind of control over your emotions. Come on, we’ve talked about this, have you ever read a comic where a good thing happens after the superhero loses control of his emotions?”

Blaine thinks about it for a second. “No…?”

“Exactly. Mostly people die.”

Blaine whimpers.

“No one’s gonna die this time.” Sam assures him, just as the front door to the campus café rings open with the first costumer of the day. “As long as you take your precautions and take up yoga, and learn to control that sweet temper of yours.”

“I don’t even have that much of a temper.” Blaine sighs dejectedly as Sam starts walking towards the cash register, backwards so he can finish the conversation.

“I know you don’t, but it’s different when a person is under that much stress, and still, we shouldn’t be taking-” Sam’s interrupted by the sound of snapping fingers. They both look to find a tall guy, with impeccable hair and a fitted peacoat over yoga pants, glaring in their direction, in the split second he bothers to take his eyes off his phone. Sam presses his lips into a line and mutters, “Great. _Him_.”

Blaine watches somewhat amusedly as Sam slides over to the register and attends to who Blaine assumes is the rude, pretentious, arrogant costumer that comes in most mornings and Sam has come to progressively loathe more and more. So, by extension and according to roommate loyalty laws, Blaine has too. The guy asks for the usual without ever looking up from his phone for a second. He barely bothers to take out one of his ear-buds when Sam asks him to remind what the usual is (even though Sam definitely knows what the usual is). They exchange a few passive-aggressive, barely polite words and as soon as those are over, the ear-bud is back in place an the guy is back to staring at his phone while waiting for his cup of steaming coffee. Sam has to alert him twice that the coffee is ready, before the guy looks up, takes the cup and leaves with hurried steps and still all too absorbed in his phone – Blaine catches a glimpse, he’s playing candy crush.

“Let’s hope he’s not in your yoga class,” Sam says with a sneer.

“Though he probably is. Why else would anyone wake up this early on a Saturday?” Blaine sighs. “I should head over, anyway. I don’t want be relegated to the back and then do everything wrong because I can’t hear or see the instructor.”

He hops off the stool and grabs his heavy gym bags with one hand (boxing comes later) and his yoga mattress and jacket with the other. Sam blows him a kiss and Blaine sticks his tongue out.

“I’m so gonna fall asleep during the meditation part…” Blaine says as way of goodbye, before he walks across the street to the campus gym building.

Rude coffee guy is going in just as Blaine steps over the sidewalk, so he jogs over to catch the door open, but he barely manages to let out a loud “Hold the door, plea-” before it's slamming right into his nose and he’s dropping everything to clutch and howl in pain. After a minute or two, and despite the searing pain and the stars he’s seeing, he manages to be rational enough and check that it’s not broken and then, with a newly acquired bad mood, gathers his stuff from the ground, elbows open the stupid door and shuffles inside.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, still twisting and stretching his surely red nose, as he bypasses the guy, who is calmly sipping his coffee, just back from some room, and walking over to look at flyers on the cork board.

The guy just looks at him, judgment on his face, he squints for a second before shrugging and turning back to his activity. Blaine scoffs and heads over to the locker rooms to the soundtrack of crackling electricity.

Yoga is necessary.

When he gets to the actual yoga class, though, after spending five minutes checking his nose in the mirror and realizing that yes, he is going to have a big nasty bruise for days, thank you very much, that’s when he finds out that maybe he doesn’t stand to gain much from yoga after all. Because finger-snappy himself is up at the front, sitting and scrolling through his phone, even if finally free from the ear buds, while he waits for everyone to take a seat so he can start his very own class.

Before he can help himself, the words are flowing right out his mouth. “ _You_ ’re the instructor?”

The guy looks up. His blue eyes look almost bored. Or pissed off. Somewhere in between. While Blaine’s tone might have deserved it, there’s still the finger-snapping and the not-holding-doors thing that makes Blaine’s skin crawl a little, and not feel really guilty and chastised at how the word “ _you”_ came out like he was talking about a snail’s goo trail.

“Yes, why?”

“Huh,” is all that Blaine says before he walks to the far back and drops his mattress.

Yes. Let’s learn to relax and find balance. From a guy who snaps fingers at wait staff, assumes other people magically know their coffee orders from the midst of the other few hundred coffee orders they take every day, barely looks up from their phone to have a proper exchange with the barista, doesn’t bother to look if it’s worth it to hold the door for anyone that might not have his hands free to do so, doesn't even do so after he's been loudly asked to, and doesn’t even think to apologize after his door slams right into their nose because they’re too busy looking at _pamphlets_.

Blaine doesn’t relax. It’s not so much that the guy (who introduces himself as Kurt) is that bad an instructor as it is that Blaine just can’t buy a word of what he’s saying about peace, and calm, and meditation, and chi, cha, cho…

He goes straight to the cardio part of the gym after yoga, and right after to the sandbags and tries to remember all those boxing classes years ago. He tries to ignore the way the lights flicker sometimes when he gives a particularly rough punch, but it’s getting him more and more scared, which isn’t helping with the flickering situation.

He catches sight of Kurt, the hypocritical yoga instructor, on a treadmill, next to a short, vaguely familiar brunette who seems to be talking his ear off, and exhausting herself into a pool of sweat and flushed skin over the effort of jogging and talking at the same time. Every time Kurt seems to be sneaking an earbud into his ear, she snatches it off and continues talking as if it was nothing. He looks in pain, and it makes Blaine feel a little, tiny bit better.

They exchange glances when it happens for the third time and Blaine is chuckling at the karmic sight. Kurt, the hypocritical yoga instructor, scowls and rolls his eyes.

Blaine manages another ten minutes of punches before the lights start flickering again, and he gives up for the day.

-

The next day is Sam’s day off from the café and there’s no yoga class, so Blaine’s in a significantly better mood while working out. The two of them are assisting each other through sit-ups and weight lifting.

“I don’t think yoga is gonna help much, given the circumstances,” Blaine grunts, as he comes up to Sam’s knees. “I mean… I can’t really take him seriously as a yoga instructor when I know he’s the most stressed, self-absorbed, oblivious person ever, can I?”

“Look. I know better than anyone that that guy can really put you in the worst mood. But you need this, and it’s cheaper than any other place. You just have to close your eyes and meditate yourself into a world where Adam Levine is your instructor.”

“We’ve moved past Adam. We’re at Tom Hardy, now.”

“Oh, okay. Noted. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. But I think even then, the boxing training wouldn’t work. You know the places I go back to when I do that. It’s impossible to not get… angry or… when I’m doing that.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Sam says and stops altogether. “That you start learning how to focus your feelings and detach when you have to, and use them only when it’s useful?”

“But I can’t practice that in a place full of people, what if I hurt someone-”

“What are you, the Hulk?” A voice drawls from nearby. They look to find Kurt, the hypocritical yoga instructor, pausing his own sit-ups. “Yoga class is not actually an anger management course, you know that right? I’m not there to get you in touch with your inner whatever. I’m there because it pays me money and I’m flexible and have a good memory for idiotic positions with ridiculous names.”

Blaine can’t do anything but stare.

“What others take out of it is their responsibility.” Kurt shrugs. “Also, I hardly think you having one or two hulk meltdowns would do anyone any harm, since there are no two year olds around that you could actually beat up. But if you’re so scared of hurting someone with that child-sized figure of yours, I suggest you get your own sandbag and practice at home, where there will be no pedophiles creeping on you as a way of legally satisfying their visual needs or people whose iPod batteries have died and are forced to overhear your obnoxious, pointless ramblings. Excuse me,” he stands up, brushes imaginary lint off his shoulders, and then nods in both their directions. “Domestic violence victim. Incompetent barista.”

The both of them watch him go with open mouths and burning cheeks.

“You know,” Sam says, “there’s always YouTube and instructional yoga videos.”

“Yap,” Blaine agrees at once.

-

Ever since the episodes started, Blaine has relegated himself to the back of the classroom, lest he blow up the projector and injure the whole class. At least this way, the closest electrical appliances are cell phones. It’s also less likely that someone will sit next to him and notice if he accidentally heats up the table or whatever. If, as a consequence, his Professors predict a downfall in his grades, he’s half sure they’ll see it. It’s mighty hard to concentrate on anything they’re saying when he’s dealing with a surge of superpowers, and Sam’s voice quoting Uncle Ben time and over again. For the first time in his life, learning about voice techniques, stage dancing or even musical theory seems superfluous.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t considering the whole superhero thing. Mostly he’d agreed to yoga because it seemed like the sensible thing to do, and he’d agreed to physical training because… because… because he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t considering the superhero thing.

It’s silly – he has zero skills on the subject of helping people in distress, and his powers are barely useful. Besides, according to Sam, it’ll involve wearing his hair au naturel most days, because his hair is gelled in the photo that that Rachel Berry girl posted on social media, and if he keeps both identities wearing their hair like that, someone is bound to catch up sooner or later (and the super identity has already claimed a style for itself).

Blaine’s been easing it on the product, every day using a little less gel. Some days he feels almost happy, most days he fights the urge to go back and do it properly.

Anyway, if he’s now sitting in a classroom doodling superhero outfits and scribbling possible names, it’s because for the last two weeks, with the help of YouTube Yoga and a lot of hard work, he’s beginning to control it a lot better. Nothing else explodes unless he means it too, which is great. Sometimes, if he gets very riled up, something will crackle or even fume, but it’s a big step up from explosions. He hasn’t quite gotten there with the heat yet, but that’s not as noticeable or dangerous, so he cuts himself some slack.

The names and the outfits scribbled on his notebooks range from “I’m taking this seriously” to “this is the biggest joke in my life”. Blaine’s personal favorite so far is simply “Gay Man”. That way, journalists would have a hard time entitling articles about him in ways that didn’t sound like they were talking about some random gay dude that did something (hopefully) awesome: _Gay Man Saves Child_ , the headlines would read.

Microwave Man is also a top contender on the “this is the biggest joke in my life” list, where the equally brilliant, if he does say so himself, I Want My Gel Back Man can also be found.

The “I’m taking this seriously list” consists of two options so far: Explosion or Explosive. Which more often than not get him scribbling Glitter Explosion or Explosive Rainbow in pretty letter art.

And let’s not talk about the outfit options.

Overall, Blaine would say he is dealing with the situation in a very mature and responsible matter: make fun of it and hope it goes away.

He’s biting his lips in concentration, touching up a rainbow themed super suit for Rainbow Explosion Man when someone slides right into the chair next to his and he practically rips out his bottom lip with how hard he hits his own chin with his notebook, trying to flip it over.

“Oh my god, Tina, don’t do that!” he breathes, his words coming out with a lisp as he rubs his mauled lip. “Are you even in this class?!”

“No,” she waves her hand dismissively, “of course not.”

“Of course not…” he mumbles, mimicking her casual, matter-of-fact tone, while she keeps talking as if there’s nothing else to explain (they may have only known each other for two months, but her own personal brand of crazy is something he got used to fantastically fast, and allows him to take things like this in stride).

“I was talking to an old high school friend the other day, and he was complaining about the shocking lack of quality guys in this city. You know, gay kid in small town, dreams of New York like it’s the promised land of Broadway Musicals, glitter and homosexuals. Surprise, surprise, it’s shitty revivals, dirty concrete and lots of creeps. ”

“Right.” Blaine can see where this is going.

“And I told him I shared a class or two with a fine specimen that was a true gentleman, with an awesome body and a behind that was probably hand-baked by the gods.”

“What does hand-baked mean? Hands can’t be baking ovens… I think you mean hand-crafted…” Blaine frowns, she ignores him.

“And he was curious. So, anyway-”

“So basically, he’s gay and I’m gay, and that’s what you’re basing this fantastic match on?”

“ _No_ ,” she says emphatically. “I know for a fact you’re his type. And I have a feeling he’ll be yours. He’s really smart and witty, and _very_ easy on the eyes.”

Blaine eyes her for a moment before he mollifies. He shrugs, “Okay. Tell me about him. How smart and how witty?”

“Kurt is-“

“Kurt?”

“Yeah.”

“He wouldn’t happen to be the yoga instructor at the campus gym, would he?”

“YES!” She practically screams – every head turns, the professor glares, they apologize and stay silent for five seconds, until everyone has turned back to the lecture. “ _Yes_ ,” she repeats in an emphatic whisper, “you’ve met? Did sparks fly?”

Blaine snorts, loud and obnoxious and then apologizes again.

Because his professor might actually kill him if he speaks again, he writes this time.

_Kurt is the opposite of my type._

He underlines the word opposite five times. Tina looks at him like he’s insane.

-

“For the last time, Tina,” Blaine sighs to into his phone, while perusing the department store’s map, looking for the men’s clothing section. He still can’t believe Sam actually threw out his brand new (and only, and gorgeous, and expensive, and perfect) pea coat, just because it might have been recognizable. He barely managed to keep his favorite pair of shoes to meet the same fate. “I do not want to be set up with him.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he interrupts with finality. “Listen, I called to ask if you want to come meet me and go shopping. There are some really good sales and promotions going on, you’d be a fool to miss them, and I could use the company. Sam goes shopping about once a year and he prefers target…”

“Ugh. I wish I could.” She groans. “But I’m swamped this week.”

“Oh well…” he shrugs, finally locating the correct floor on the map and turning towards the elevators. “It was worth a try. I’ll see you next week in class.”

“No, I’ll call you before, because I might be going to Callbacks on Saturday, and I think you should come.”

“Tina…”

“Completely innocent. I promise!”

He squints even though she can’t see him. “Fine. Talk to you later then,” he says, hurriedly as he notices the elevator’s doors sliding shut, concealing the last of a black clad shoulder. “Bye!” He jams the phone in his pocket and jogs, “Hold that, please!”

The doors continue to slide shut, but miraculously Blaine manages to punch the call button just in time, and they open to reveal none other than Finger-Snappy himself. Who looks exactly like someone who just got caught purposefully not holding the door open.

Blaine falters before he steps inside, shoulders as squared as Kurt’s, and gives him a glare before he looks at the button panel. The fifth floor button is already shining bright red so Blaine pulls his hand back, but then he can’t help himself, and jabs his finger at every other floor between zero and five.

Behind him, Kurt breathes in a sharp sigh, and Blaine smiles to himself and barely keeps from bouncing on the balls of his feet.

It isn’t until the doors are opening, yet again and needlessly, on the second floor, that Blaine realizes that, in his attempt to spite Kurt, he just prolonged the amount of awkward time they had together exponentially. His smile drops and he swallows, turning his eyes to the numbers above the door, urging them to turn faster.

The doors are closing on the fourth floor when Kurt lets out a deep breath and says, “I’m not self-absorbed.”

That’s rich – from the person who’s twice refused to hold doors open. At least this time Blaine didn’t nearly break his nose as a result. The bruise is still there as a reminder, though. Smaller and faded into yellow on the sides of the bridge of his nose, but there nonetheless and still preventing him from wearing his reading glasses.

“Sure.”

-

“My superhero senses are tingling…” Blaine says as they cross the street, hands buried in pockets and voice muffled through his scarf.

“The expression is spidey,” Sam tells him.

“I’m not spidey. I wish I were, instead I’m Microwave Man. I can’t use the original expression…”

Sam chuckles as they jog to get out of the way of an incoming car. “What are they tingling about?”

“Tina…” Blaine squints his eyes just as he spots the bar, in all its glittery glory. “I sense a trap.”

“But you told her no.”

“But it’s Tina…”

“Fair point.” Sam nods, just as they reach the windows and sure enough, sitting next to Tina is Kurt and some other girl who might be his brunette friend from the gym.

“We should just go home,” Blaine gets out through gritted teeth.

“We definitely don’t want you blowing off the speakers when he inevitably snaps his fingers at the bartender…” Sam nods.

Blaine can’t help laugh at the thought. “On the other hand…”

“There’s a stage and an open mic.” Sam smirks.

“You know me so well!” Blaine pretends to swoon and goes for the door. “We don’t have to sit next to them. We can just pretend they’re not here.”

“ _Or_ … I can make all of their ears bleed with country music!”

“Please, don’t!” Blaine says. “Mine will bleed as well.”

Sam sticks his tongue out, just as he lets the door slam behind them and they’re engulfed in heat and the smell of people and alcohol. They’re halfway to the other end of the bar, Blaine fishing his phone out of his pocket to send a very strongly worded text to Tina, when she spots them and makes a big show of it. Blaine’s eyes shift to her right and he can see the exact moment that Kurt sees, recognizes and understands Blaine is supposed to be Tina’s fix-up. He goes red in the cheeks.

At least they can have that in common.

Blaine waits a few seconds before he gives in and approaches their little group of three, unbuttoning his coat and taking a deep breath.

“Blaine! Sam! I’m so glad you could make it and join us!” Tina says excitedly – a tinge of fear in her voice, so Blaine knows his murderous streak is showing through his smile. “I saved you seats.”

The closest free seat is next to Kurt, and Blaine thinks he can see Kurt pushing the chair away with the tip of his shoe.

“This is Kurt,” she says, as if Blaine hadn’t told her he knew about him. Blaine nods a sardonic smile. “And that’s Rachel!” Blaine finally manages to tear his eyes away from the aggravation of the night and turns to greet Kurt’s friend only to freeze in recognition. Up close and in the dim lights of the bar, he realizes what was so familiar about her. She’s the girl from the alley.

She recognizes him too. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is agape, and her cheeks red. He has half a mind to leap over the table and put a hand over her mouth to make sure she keeps it shut.

Instead he reaches out his hand, “Rachel, it’s very nice to meet you.”

She shakes it feebly and breathes, “Likewise.”

All eyes on them, he doesn’t want to risk trading meaningful glances so he just drops to the seat that he knows was meant for him and resists the urge to run away while she and Sam get acquainted.

“So, the three of us were about to do some tequila shots, do you wanna join us?”

Blaine could use a drink right now, that’s for sure, but given the circumstances and how fresh his control of the whole explosive thing is…

“No, I don’t… drink.”

Sam glances at him with a question on his eyes but then something must click because he nods emphatically, “No, he doesn’t drink at all. In fact, I’m going to be responsible like him for once and do the same.”

Next to Blaine, Kurt rolls his eyes and stands like he’s allergic to that table, “I’ll get the shots.”

The four of them watch him leave for a moment. Blaine’s torn between that and turning back to Rachel to gauge her expression. She’s looking straight at him with flushed cheeks, gnawing on her lip. Tina has turned towards Sam, so Blaine chances it. He gives her a half pleading look and shakes his head. When she seems a little confused he mimics zipping his mouth shut and she finally nods, even if she looks pained to do so.

Apparently the conversation between Sam and Tina has also finished, because there’s an elbow to Blaine’s ribs and Sam’s laughing and whispering in his ear, “Watch it!”

Blaine looks to the bar to find Kurt’s outstretched hand as he tries to catch the bartender’s attention and - there it is: snap, snap, snap. They both burst out laughing, and when the girls ask about it, they’re forced to be obnoxious and wave it away with, “Nothing, nothing…”

Blaine covers it up by seamlessly leaning towards Rachel, his politely interested smile on, “So you went to high school with Tina?”

“Yes,” Rachel says, voice somewhat mechanic and stilted. “All three of us. We were in Glee Club together.”

“Oh, we were in glee club, too, actually-”

Blaine’s interrupted by Kurt’s arrival with six precariously held shot glasses and a plate with lemon slices and salt balanced on them. “Let’s do two each!” Kurt announces.

“Alright!” Tina cheers happily. Rachel doesn’t seem to know what to do with her face but picks up a shot anyway, going through the motions of salting her hand and holding the lemon slice. “To old friends, and new friends, and, hey, look at that, to nude erections!”

“To what?!” Blaine gasps as Sam does a double take.

“It’s our old glee club?”

“Your old glee club was called nude erections?”

“New. Directions.” Kurt corrects, sounding annoyed.

“Common mistake, really.” Tina laughs – she looks so desperate for everyone to get along Blaine almost feels sorry for her. “I think our teacher was either high or horny when-”

“Are we gonna do this or what?” Kurt interrupts with a scathing look.

“Yeah, yeah, right, so as I was saying, to n-”

“To national show choir champions!” Kurt practically yells, raising his glass.

They down the shots and prepare the second one. As soon as he has his ready, Kurt raises his glass and starts, “To… To… to…!” Blaine bites his lips and tries not to laugh at his obvious difficulty in trying to come up with something else to brag about and throw in Blaine’s face.

“To wait staff,” Blaine offers with his most charming smile and a squeeze of Sam’s shoulder, who almost manages to hide his snort. “The unsung heroes of party drinks, and morning coffees.”

“Random,” Tina says, squinting slightly at Blaine, “but true! To wait staff!”

Kurt shoots Blaine a confused and annoyed look before he gives into the motions of a tequila shot.

“Okay!” Kurt shakes his head as he finishes the drink, “Rachel, I think we’re up to sing now and I changed my mind about the song, let’s go!”

It turns out, it’s not actually that close to their turn to sing, but Blaine kind of enjoys that Kurt’s gone (and also looking like he’s sulking while he waits through performer after performer, for their turn to get on stage), so he can turn to Tina and glare some sense into her.

“I told you, no!”

“But, I don’t understand what this is all about! I swear you’d be perfect for each other if-”

“If they didn’t hate each other.” Sam tells her, equally incredulous and almost as offended by her meddling.

“Why, though? What’s there to hate? You’re both such good people!”

“Ha!” Blaine lets out a sarcastic laugh that goes a little too loud in the midst of some girl pouring out her heart in a soft, melancholic ballad. Heads turns, some glares are thrown, he apologizes. “He’s rude and… and self-absorbed.”

“He is not.” Tina frowns. “I mean… he can be a little prissy, and come across the wrong way, and he’s very defensive, but-”

“Tina, can you please just drop it?” Blaine sighs. “I don’t want to date him. I just don’t, okay? Anyway, I have enough on my plate as it is, I don’t have the time for that kind of stuff, even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, no. Don’t pull the busy with studies card! I can’t have school-obsessed friends. I just can’t, Blainey-boy.”

“It’s not just school, though,” Sam grins, and Blaine glares. “We’re starting a First Aid course tomorrow!”

“Really?” Tina gasps with a hand to her chest. “See?! That’s the kind of thing that would make Kurt swoon!”

Blaine gives her an amused stare and opens his mouth just as a familiar voice fills the bar over the microphone. “I’m Kurt Hummel, this is Rachel Berry, memorize these names and enjoy.”

The opening chords to the song start and Blaine is torn between laughing in admiration or in disbelief. It ends up being something in between, but he barely stops doing it all the way through an admittedly stellar rendition of “What Is This Feeling?” – at least on Kurt’s part, who seems to draw inspiration and motivation from glaring at Blaine the whole way through. Rachel, on the other hand, does her part, as Elphaba, but looks more confused than anything up on that stage, poor girl – blindsided by Blaine’s appearance, Kurt’s disdain for Blaine and the song choice – she never stood a chance.

“ _Though I do admit it came on fast!_ ” Kurt sings with emotion and attitude and Blaine can’t help but return his stare with a respectful nod before standing up, “ _Still I do believe that it can last!_ ”

He walks to the table with the sign up sheet and jots down his name, checking how many people are ahead of him and promptly returning to his seat.

Once they come back, he smiles, only partly sardonic. “That was wonderful. A little on the nose, but wonderful. You’re both very talented.”

Kurt seems lost for words.

“Thank you, Blaine,” Rachel says after a moment, a small smile finally creeping onto her face. “You said you were in Glee club too?”

“Yeah, back in Kentucky, we-“ Kurt snorts and tries to cover it up with a noticeably fake cough. Blaine continues. “Sam and I met our senior year, back there, and the glee club was kind of pitifully small, and the arts weren’t that well funded, so even if we had enough people to compete, we wouldn’t have the funds to go to anything further than sectionals. But it was fun so…”

“You know what?” Sam leans in, arms folded over the table with a smirk, “He’s being awfully modest. He used to be the lead soloist for some shmancy fancy a capella glee club up in Ohio. With him they would’ve made it to Nationals, they told me, without him, they kind of… disgraced themselves.”

Blaine actually does blush at that, and slaps Sam over the arm. “Yeah, but it wasn’t just because I left. I mean, the council graduated and they were left without any clear leadership or vision and-”

“And they wanted you to be their lead soloist over skype!” Sam laughs. “They were very cute.”

Blaine glares at him and Sam just glares back. It’s a fine line between rubbing something back in Kurt’s face or making it sound like they're selling Blaine's potential as a date.

“You’re originally from Ohio, then?” Rachel asks.

“Yes!” Tina grins, “First thing we bonded over – how nice it is to not be in Ohio!”

“Though trading it for Kentucky might actually have been a step back,” Kurt comments, twirling a napkin over the tabletop, oh so distractedly casual.

“My parents got divorced, and my dad would never pay alimony. It was the only place my mom could find a job,” he says, daring Kurt to comment on it further, but the other boy does look chastised, and Blaine thinks he might actually be biting his lip, very, very discreetly.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Tina says, loud enough to sound completely desperate, “did you guys know that Ohio was the first place in the world to have ambulances? And a professional fire department!” The whole table stops to look at her. She might not have grown two heads, but she seems pretty damn close. She is sweating a little. _Good_ , Blaine cheers internally. “In Cincinnati!”

“Did you read up on Ohio fun facts before you came here?” Kurt quirks an eyebrow.

“No. I did a school report on first responders when I was eleven,” she mumbles with red cheeks. “It stuck with me for some reason, and I don’t know, I thought it was interesting.”

Sam grins and then frowns, screwing his eyes shut and hitting his forehead lightly. He turns to Blaine. “What’s that word that sounds like river and means interesting?”

“Riveting?”

Sam turns back to grin towards Tina, chin on his palm and sighs, “ _Riveting_!”

“Yeah, so, hum… Oh!” Tina looks like she might have hit the conversational jackpot. “Your bruise is gone!”

Blaine could pity her, he really could. “Oh yes… I’ve said goodbye to the abused look. Let’s just hope no one else slams a door on my face and refuses to apologize for it later because they’re too busy reading pamphlets…” he says, acid dripping as he looks at Kurt.

Everyone goes dead silent, and Kurt frowns as if he has no idea why Blaine is bringing that up in the first place. Blaine rolls his eyes at the act.

Tina might actually start crying sometime soon. She barely manages to pull another smile together, and her voice comes out frantic and shaky. “So, Kurt and Rachel are a year ahead of us, so they could actually give us some nice insider advice for-”

“Oh,” Rachel frowns with a smile, “They’re in the Musical Theatre program as well?”

“Just Music for me…” Blaine shakes his head. “And Sam is in the Education program. I share some classes with Tina, though. I tried to reach as much as I could with my electives.”

“That’s weird!” Rachel chuckles nervously, a flush to her cheeks. “For some reason I assumed you’d be studying something science-y, in labs or whatever…”

“Oh my god, Rachel, that’s so rude,” Kurt gasps, all condescension and no honesty. “You can’t just assume things about someone just because a person dresses like complete dorks.” The two girls look at Kurt like he just wished the death of a kitten, but Blaine manages to keep a bright smile on his face and laugh.

“Did you know that Blaine is starting a First Aid course tomorrow? Isn’t that awesome?! Oh and Sam too, I guess.” Tina’s voice is practically a whimper. She looks at Kurt waiting for a reaction that clearly doesn’t come – he looks back at her with the expression of someone who wants to dump his drink down her cleavage. Rachel seems a little lost between acting nonchalant and congratulating the idea.

With some distance, the scene would surely be hilarious, Blaine thinks. “If you’ll excuse me, I think my stage slot is coming right up.” He stands and doesn’t check to see if everyone is descending upon Kurt to tell him off or not. Luckily, he has slightly better luck and he only has to wait for one person to go up on that stage before it’s his turn. He refuses the instrumental track, and opts to use the guitar on the stage.

“Good night everybody. I’m Blaine, and I thought I’d bring back a true summer classic of the one-hit-wonder persuasion.”

“ _If I could write you a song, And make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm. I used up all of my tricks, I hope that you like this. But you probably won't. You think you're cooler than me_.” He starts, having a hard time covering his self-satisfaction.

After a long line of cheesy heartbroken ballads it’s clear the crowd was craving something cheerful and upbeat, so he has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand, the first row tables clapping along and a few wolf whistles from the back of the room. He engages as many people as possible, instead of just Kurt. If it’s because he’s never been this outwardly mean or rude to someone before, and he’s not quite sure he likes the feeling it brings, no one has to know. He’s not about to back down from their little game, no matter how many knots it twists his stomach into.

“ _You got your high brow, Switch in your walk, And you don't even look when you pass by. But you don't know the way that you look, When your steps make that much noise. Shh_.”

He chances a glance at their table. Tina has her face buried in her hands, Sam is brushing off tears of laughter, Rachel is confused but looks mostly amused, and Kurt is looking at Blaine with an expertly blank expression. Blaine could swear, even in the dark bar, that he’s rage blushing, though.

He finishes the song to loud applause, and saunters off stage, just as Kurt springs off his chair and goes straight for the sign up sheet. Blaine can’t help the scoff that escapes him and turns his trajectory towards there as well.

He waits patiently, watching Kurt bent over, scribbling his name, and then puts on a smile when Kurt finishes and straightens up. He turns around and almost yelps, startled at Blaine’s proximity. Blaine nods politely before stepping around him to get to the book. Kurt’s handwriting is sloppy – and Blaine wonders if it’s always like that, or if he’s gotten that much under the other boy’s skin. He glances back with a pinch of guilt, but it’s not like he started it. With a shake of his head and a roll of his shoulders Blaine puts down his name right under Kurt’s.

He heads to the bar after, texting Sam to know if he wants anything to drink, because the longer he stays away from the table, the less rude exchanges happen. Sam texts back requesting a coke, and Blaine gets two of those, before he resigns himself to the fate of going back to the battlefront. Sam, Rachel and Tina seem to have fallen into a friendly sort of conversation and, for fear of disturbing the fragile peace, Blaine just puts both their drinks on the table and sits down wordlessly.

His luck runs out the second Rachel notices he’s back, though, because at once she’s over her earlier shock and too eager to gush about his stage presence, and voice, and overall talent, and how she’s excited at the new friendship, hoping it will mean many wonderful duets ahead of them. Blaine can see the way Kurt is chewing on the inside of his cheek, from the corner of his eye, and is torn between trying to change the subject and feeling self-satisfied. So, he smiles and lets her go on with her fantasies, keeping as much of a neutral participation in it as he can while sipping his coke.

It’s been a while, and it’s starting to bother Blaine more than he’d care to admit, when Kurt finally slips from his stool and goes towards the stage. Blaine tries not to sigh in relief too much. He was supposed to have enjoyed Kurt’s discomfort.

Kurt is up on that stage after two minutes, and Blaine figures that that’s his cue to go up and wait for his turn as well. He almost trips as he recognizes the opening notes, in all their light, upbeat, teasing glory.

“ _Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity_!” Kurt’s voice is drawled just to perfection, and he has everyone laughing and cheering. Blaine bites his lip to keep himself from laughing too hard.

When Kurt takes a bow to enthusiastic applause and turns to step off the stage with a smirk, Blaine manages to strike Olivia Newton-John’s overtly hurt expression just in time, “Are you making fun of me?”

Kurt falters for a moment. Blaine’s sure there’s a ghost of a smile there, even if he just continues on his way off the stage. It’s the only reason Blaine ends up going back to enjoying their little feud. Maybe it could just be fun.

He walks over to the piano. “Hi again. Blaine here. How about a _true_ classic, now?”

He plays a few notes, getting used to the instrument, before he takes a deep breath and starts on a slow, soulful rendition of a song that had no right having such a version.

“ _A scrub is a guy who thinks he’s fly, but he’s also known as a buster, always talkin' about what he wants, And just sits on his broke ass, so no_ …”

He finishes on a whispered note, closed eyes and heartbroken stance, and there’s a moment of silence before the bar bursts into applause.

He finds Kurt in a heartbeat and shoots him a smirk and a wink and knows that he’s just won tonight’s round.


	2. Part 2: The Vigilante at McDonalds

The next time Kurt is on the fence about something, he will most definitely trust his gut feeling, instead of letting Santana talk him into it. In fact, he should never let Santana talk him into anything, ever – and if his gut feeling is ever on board with her suggestions it can go screw itself.

He sighs. He’s being a little unfair to Santana. It’s hardly her fault that she talked him into coming to the gym late Saturday, claiming (again, to be fair, rightly so) that it would be practically empty because college students would never come to the gym on a Saturday evening. She has a point, and while he might not share her commitment to not letting anyone ever see sweat coming out her pores, lest they think she’s actually human, he’ll admit that he’d enjoy a less crowded gym just as much – especially if it means not having Rachel with him, talking his ear off. All in all, it’s definitely not her fault, nor could she have ever predicted that of the three people currently working out in the entire cardio section, Mister Sanctimonious McSelf-Righteous would be one of them, looking pristine and ready to start his workout as he fills up his bottle with fresh water from the fountain.

The sight of him makes the hair on the back of Kurt’s neck stand. It makes him prickle with distaste.

It wouldn’t be nearly as problematic if Rachel hadn’t been going on and on about Blaine Anderson this and Blaine Anderson that for the last entire week. If his usual Saturday brunch with her hadn’t just been canceled so she could have it with _him_ instead. If Rachel hadn’t come back with yet another slew of gushing words about the damn guy. He would’ve managed to forget all (or most) about him, otherwise. The same way he nearly had right before Tina’s little failure of a setup (he should’ve known there was something wrong when she insisted it had to be a group outing).

Alas, Kurt’s best friend was clearly more than eager to trade him in for a shinier, more popular model. Not that Kurt thought Blaine Anderson had any right being shinier or more popular than him – but he had to face the facts, and the truth was, Blaine had had the audience eating out of the palm of his hand the other night, in a way that Kurt very rarely had, with his highly unusual voice and very particular taste.

Kurt could console himself in slapping the label “Mainstream” on Blaine, and have it speak for the disgrace it should in a world of artists (and disown Callbacks as his favorite bar, for clearly not knowing how to appreciate originality). But even if he could lie to himself well enough to believe Blaine was yet another talentless clone of the douchebag with a guitar (and a piano) persuasion, he can’t ignore the stab of jealousy that goes through him every time Rachel mentions his name. Because it’s not just about the anonymous masses preferring Blaine to him. His own friends seem perfectly happy cancelling plans with Kurt just so they can hang out with Blaine. Sure, Rachel had technically invited Kurt to come along, but she knew perfectly well Kurt would never agree to that and so, when push came to shove, she chose Blaine. After a week of knowing the guy, she was already choosing him over Kurt.

And she knows Blaine is gay, so it isn’t even like one of those romantic films she makes up in her head the moment she meets a mildly good-looking and somewhat talented boy who’ll give her the time of day. It literally feels like Kurt’s days as her best friend are counted, and Kurt’s not sure what’s worse – that she wants to trade him in for _Blaine_ , or that yet again he’s feeling like shit because of her.

So, yes, call it an overreaction, jealousy, or stupidity, but the sight of Blaine makes his blood run a little too hot.

Blaine finishes filling up his bottle and straightens back up just as Santana starts pulling Kurt towards the treadmills. Blaine scans the room, possibly looking for empty machines, and his eyes meet Kurt’s.

They both freeze for a second. Almost simultaneously they start moving again and there’s another moment of extra awkwardness when it’s obvious they’re both going towards the treadmills. Thankfully, they manage to make sure there’s an empty one between the two of them, and it’s easy enough for Kurt to keep his eyes on his own screen and ignore the guy entirely. He jams his ear buds in and focuses on that.

It’s not until his first song ends and there’s a break between songs that he hears loud, fast footsteps, and he can’t help but glance up, realizing that Blaine is running… rather fast. Kurt glances over at Santana who’s running almost at the same pace as Kurt – perhaps a little faster even – without breaking a sweat, ponytail beautifully swinging behind her as her lips barely move along with the lyrics of her music.

Kurt looks back at Blaine. He seems just as focused on himself as Kurt was just a few seconds ago, except that, unlike Kurt and Santana, he makes zero effort to keep himself from mouthing along with the songs on his iPod, facial expressions and all. Kurt feels like snorting at how idiotic he looks and forces himself to turn back to his own exercise.

His self-control lasts three seconds before he’s pressing the button to make it go faster. From the corner of his eye he thinks he catches Blaine glancing, and he keeps from smirking, from admitting even to himself that it gave him pleasure. Because it would be pathetic if he had just upped his cardio in a fit of competitiveness.

About a minute later, because Blaine must have much better self-control than Kurt, he notices Blaine himself upping his speed. Kurt barely waits half a minute before he’s doing it, and Blaine’s resolve clearly drops after that because it’s almost instantaneous, and soon they’ve fallen into a back and forth that lasts until there’s no more speed to up and they’re both sprinting for their lives. Kurt can feel sweat rolling down his face, past his eyebrows, blurring his vision and burning his eyes, but there’s no way he’s stopping anytime soon.

Next to him, he realizes Santana has stopped altogether and he wonders when she noticed what was happening. He can barely afford to glance at her, but he can see enough to know she’s just casually leaning against her treadmill and watching the two of them go at it.

Kurt glances at the stats on the screen, realizing that he’s been on a downright sprint for nearly ten minutes now and that he might actually have a heart attack at any point in the near future. He’s not quite sure why he’s not putting a stop to it – maybe the blood flow to his brain is getting scarcer by the second and has impaired his judgment – but he just keeps breathing through nose and mouth and everywhere that gets oxygen in, feeling the sweat dripping from his elbows and chin into pools on the treadmill, and praying he doesn’t die soon. He keeps going for what feels like forever.

The lights flicker, and a sane person might take it as a sign that this is a bad idea, but Kurt is clearly not a sane person.

Thankfully Blaine appears to be and barely a second later he punches the emergency stop sign (or Kurt thinks he does, unable to see everything through his sweat-impaired vision), and slumps over the treadmill console in gasps.

Kurt continues for another fourteen seconds (it shouldn’t look like he really was just doing it for the competition, should it?), before he stretches a shaking hand towards the emergency stop button as well. He can’t quite hit it, but before he can just let himself collapse, all broken bone consequences be damned, Santana’s hand appears like the saving grace it is and makes it stop. He crashes against the front of the treadmill, practically topples over it, hugging it and keeping his grip tight. His legs feel like jello, like he might never walk again.

After a whole minute taking deep, gasping breaths, he finally opens his eyes to find Santana looking at him, with a mixture of concern and amusement.

“What the fuck was that about?” Her voice sounds distant, from another world.

Kurt opens his mouth to say something, anything. What comes out is, “I’m gonna be sick!” as he scrambles off towards the locker rooms, legs giving out the moment he tries to balance himself on them, and falling flat on his face. Santana shoves a trashcan under his face, and he could cry with the humiliation of it all, if he wasn’t too busy puking his guts out.

Once he’s finished he can’t help look towards Blaine, who’s sitting on his own treadmill, with his head between his legs, arms wrapped tight around his knees. His shirt clings to his body, drenched in sweat.

He didn’t know Santana had gone but apparently she had, because she’s crouching down next to Blaine with a bottle of water and trashcan. He waves the trashcan away but accepts the water. As he looks up, Kurt sees that his face is blood red and soaked. He imagines his own isn’t looking much better. If not worse. He frowns, amid panting, and makes a feeble attempt at wiping his chin with the back of his hand, lest there be puke there.

It’s been at least five minutes before Kurt manages to string a complete sentence together.

“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” he mutters.

Santana snorts. She’s sitting on the treadmill between the two of them. Blaine has moved to lie on his back on the floor, and hasn’t said a single thing past “Thanks” whenever Santana gives him more water.

“So what’s happening with the hobbit over here?”

Blaine takes that as his cue to sit up, with a grunt.

“Heya, there,” Santana holds out her hand to keep him from pushing himself to his feet. “you still look like Frodo after he got bit by the giant spider. Go back to the cocoon stage. I’m tempted to take both of you psychos to the hospital, actually.”

He shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet nonetheless, “Cold shower.”

He walks away, his legs looking shaky and unsteady, and he clings to the closest wall he can find, but Kurt’s pretty sure if he attempted to do the same, he’d have fallen flat on his face in less than a second, so he’s not one to judge at the moment.

“I think I can speak again…” Kurt mumbles, his breathing finally having slowed down to something a little closer to manageable. “Jesus fuck… never let me do that again.”

“What _was_ that?”

“That’s Blaine Anderson, who-“

“Wait, that’s the guy Rachel can’t shut up about? That’s the guy Tina wanted to set you up with and you proceeded to spend the rest of the night singing hate songs to each other?”

“That’s the one.” Kurt can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.

Santana looks at him like she’s about to burst out laughing before she seems to think better of it. “Well, Tina might have a point. You do push each other to the fullest of your abilities,” she smirks.

He tries to swat her over the shoulder but he misses and she laughs some more.

“Do you think you can move now?” Santana asks after a couple of minutes in silence.

“Not really…” he sighs and she groans.

She waits another minute before her patience seems to run out and she pulls his arm over her shoulders, hoisting him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

With her help he does manage to slowly regain some control of his legs, even though his muscles are screaming and completely locked up. She doesn’t even miss a beat as she pushes the men’s locker room open, shouting, “Hide the junk! Lesbo in the house and she don’t wanna see no salami!”

The locker room is practically empty safe for a couple of guys who are mostly fully dressed and shooting glares at Santana, and then Blaine sprawled on his back, over a long bench with jeans on, but torso still bare, as he grips a t-shirt in his hand and makes no move to put it on.

Kurt kind of feels thankful for the state he’s in, because he’s pretty sure otherwise he’d have had a hard time not staring at the other boy’s exposed body – at the way his flat stomach rises and falls with his breathing, muscles shifting under the tan skin, at his hipbones jutting out, because of his position, holding his pants and briefs a millimeter or two above the skin, at his biceps bulging even as he holds his arms stretched, falling out of the bench, towards the floor. This way, Kurt can barely look for more than two seconds before he has to turn his concentration fully back onto keeping his balance.

Santana gives Blaine an amused look, “I know he was the one that folded first, but he’s kind of winning right now, Kurt. Showered and half dressed, and you can barely stand.”

“Shut up,” Kurt mutters.

“Besides, he’s like half your size, he probably had to run twice as fast as you with his little tiny legs. If you think about it, he probably actually won fair and square.”

“Shut up.”

“So, how is this shower thing going to happen? I do not want to see your junk.”

“I can shower alone.” She quirks an eyebrow and he pulls his arm from around her. “Seriously, I promise. You can go.”

“Nuh-huh…” she says, and walks over to the bench closest to the showers, sitting there and crossing one leg over the other. “I’ll wait here while you shower, so if you fall flat on your current tomato of a face I can take a few pictures, post them online and then haul your twinkie ass to the hospital.”

Kurt stares her down to no avail. From the corner of his eye he can see Blaine finally sitting up and starting to put his shirt on.

He sighs and gives up.

“I can’t leave you two alone, anyway,” she says as he walks over to his locker to get his stuff, “Next thing I know you’ll be competing over who can take the coldest shower and dying of hypothermia. And I’d have to try and save and never be able to forget the sight of your tiny cold-shrunken junk. I mean, I'd photograph it too, just in case you survived, it would be could for blackmail.” She turns to Blaine who’s eyeing her with a frown. “I’m an entrepreneur like that,” she grins and he chuckles as he pulls on a button up and starts buttoning it slowly.

Kurt ignores her altogether, as well as Blaine, and gets his stuff from the locker. It’s not even like Santana needs much prompting, as she just continues on a horrible spiel of half-insults and offensive tangents through all the time Kurt’s getting ready to shower, and then actually showering.

The whole process is further aggravated not only by the physical pain he’s in, but the fact that he’s painfully aware that Santana and Blaine are right there. Still he somehow manages the whole thing, even if by the end, he can’t take it anymore and asks Santana to just leave and get herself ready to go home. She does so after an undignified amount of begging, and he can only sigh and slump in relief.

Kurt ends up following Blaine’s example and just lies on the bench, fully dressed, for a moment. Just until he can feel normal again.

There’s movement by the corner of the locker aisle and he cranes up his neck to look. Blaine’s got his jacket on, his hair dry and a bag over his shoulder, looking mostly fine and stable on his own two feet.

“We should probably forget this ever happened,” Blaine says. His voice is soft and hesitant. He cringes a little.

“I agree.” Kurt groans, pushing himself to sit.

Blaine gives him a small smile and turns to leave, before he remembers something else. “Oh, was the girl your friend?” Kurt nods. “You should keep her around more often. She makes _you_ sound like a good person.”

Kurt glares, Blaine smiles again (chuckles even), and leaves.

-

“You will not believe what just happened!” Santana says as soon as the loft door slides open. She strides inside like she’s got the birth of Jesus to announce, and Kurt follows her without bothering to close the door, just so he can sprawl himself face-first on the couch and never move again. “I have just witnessed the most ridiculous battle of penis egos there ever was.”

“What?” Rachel pokes her head out of her privacy curtain.

“Kurt and that guy you keep talking about… Blair or whatever.”

“Blaine.”

“Yes, Frodo. He was at the gym when we got there. And we all go up to the treadmills to start the cardio, you know. Everything normal, I didn’t even know who he was, and they didn’t acknowledge each other, so I had zero idea. But all of a sudden I look to my left and the two of them are going at it like they’re training for the Olympics, it’s just insane. You should’ve seen them- hilarious with their little sweaty shaking fingers jabbing at the console, making it go faster and faster.”

“What?”

“True. So of course at some point, after ages of like… sprinting for their lives, drenched in sweat, so red they looked like they were about to burst, one of them has the sense to just stop, and next thing I know there are two pathetic little idiots curled up on the floor, and Kurt has his head in a trashcan, puking his guts out.”

“What?”

“ _Hilarious!_ ” Santana reiterates with hand gestures for effect, before she decides the conversation is over and goes into her bedroom.

Rachel, however, doesn’t think so, and next thing Kurt knows she's crouching down right next to his face, “Oh my god, you did _what_? Are you insane? Why would you ever do that? You could’ve… You could’ve… That’s insane!”

“Relax, everything’s fine.”

“Kurt. I have to say that whatever beef you two have, it’s childish, and it’s stupid. And it might’ve been funny once upon a time, but today what you did was stupid, and you could’ve actually gotten hurt. You both could have.”

“I’m fin-”

“And he’s my friend. I like Blaine, okay? He’s a great person, and you’re moping around pretending like you know him, just because it’s easier than swallowing your pride and admitting you might have gotten a wrong first impression.”

“Me? You think _I’m_ the problem?” He pushes himself up to sit and spend his last remaining drops of energy on his frustration. “Excuse me? He was the one that didn’t even know me before he acted like me being his yoga instructor was the worst thing that could have happened to him! He was the one calling me self-absorbed and a hypocrite without exchanging more than two words with me. _I’m_ not the one who got the wrong first impression here, and I’m _not_ apologizing for not joining the fanclub of some two faced goody two shoes with a god complex.”

Rachel gapes at him, clearly speechless and confused, giving him the opportunity to push himself to his feet and limp his way to bed, drawing his curtains closed with dramatic flare.

Kurt feels himself one sentence away from screaming _if you think he’s so great why don’t you go be his best friend, instead?_ but he’s not quite ready to go back to his middle school self just yet. He does still have enough rationality to know he’s being kind of a child about the whole thing.

He might have very good reasons why the sight of Blaine Anderson gets his skin crawling, but even he can admit if everyone else has nothing but great things to say about him, there might just be some truth to their testaments and some untruth to his. And besides, Rachel does have the right to have other friends – even if they’re people _he_ doesn’t want to be friends with.

While she has, on many occasions, tried to dictate his own friendships and keep him from falling in with the “wrong crowd”, he can’t be the hypocrite who’ll turn around and do the same thing he criticized her so hard for doing.

Instead he punches his pillow a little harder than he needs to, trying to get it comfortable before he curls up, and sighs at the feeling of his aching muscles relaxing.

-

It takes him four days before he can move normally again. Rachel has stopped mentioning the word Blaine altogether, and Santana still laughs every time he so much as hurries his pace to catch the subway train.

But it is enough to get him to… relax. He was being stupid, naturally. Rachel is probably not trying to replace Kurt with Blaine, and the fact that she even likes the guy doesn’t need to have any impact on their friendship. Just like the fact that the guy even exists at all doesn’t need to have any impact on Kurt’s life and self-esteem. Sure, Blaine may not like him, but he’s a big boy and throughout his life there have been plenty of people who didn’t like him. He survived them just fine, and he’ll survive this idiot as well; the exact same way, too – head held high and the reminder that one day he’ll prove everyone wrong. It’s just another dot on the list.

Sure, it doesn’t help that this whole thing happened right after he, yet again, lost the lead of the semester’s play to someone else, with no better justification other than “You’re not quite what we have in mind.” Which, taking into account the guy who ended up landing it, is code for “you’re not conventional enough for a lead.”

He didn’t even get a supporting role. And there’s only so much consolation he can take out of a perfect GPA if he’s not getting any exposure on the actual stage he’s studying to fill.

“Kurt,” Rachel sticks her head in through his privacy curtains, with a shy – possibly sheepish – smile. “Tina and some friends are going to Callbacks. She was asking if we want to go, and I thought it might be fun.”

Kurt barely needs to ask. “Is the Anderson guy gonna be there?”

She grimaces but tries to cover it, and then shrugs with fake nonchalance. “I mean, probably. She didn’t say, but they are kind of close.” She pauses before she continues with a tentative tone, “And I really do think you should give him a chance, he’s really nice, and-”

“Actually, some girls from my Yoga class were going out tonight and really wanted me to go.” True. “I said yes.” Not very true. “I’ve wanted to get to know them a little better for a long time now.” Completely untrue.

“Oh, well.” Rachel clearly doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t push either. “You’ll know where to find us, if you change your mind.” She leaves, and from the safety of no visual contact she adds, “Are you sure it’s not unresolved sexual tension, though?”

Stupid conventionally attractive and conventionally talented Blaine would probably get the stupid role on his stupid first try.

He picks up his cell and texts one of the yoga girls that he’ll join them for a couple of drinks. Just enough so that he can leave before the girls and come back home to an empty loft. He pulls on his easiest going out look and is out the door in less than half an hour.

For the first hour, the girls turn out not to be that obnoxious, or it might just be the fact that they keep buying him shots, and dragging him to the dance floor like he’s their new favorite toy. He catches the expression “best gay” a couple of times, but he’s more than willing to ignore it for the nice alcohol fueled feeling and them having found a club doing a themed Naughties night. He dances to Destiny’s Child with abandon like he hasn’t in a while.

The fun comes to a halting end when they decide to change clubs and the music loses the reminiscing quality and turns into mindless thumpa-thumpa, and then even further when some of the girls start bolting to the bathroom to puke and others hooking up with random guys. What feels like an eternity later, which is endured only through another couple of drinks, he checks the time on his phone – 01:35 – and sees that he has a new text from Rachel.

_From Rachel 21:27 – He’s not here, either. Apparently he was also wary of your presence and decided to skip out on it (he told Tina he had plans, but she seemed unconvinced and I identified with the feeling). You can join us whenever, we’re having so much fun!_

Great. His night went downhill embarrassingly fast, and he gave up a perfectly good night with his friends for nothing. He signals the bartender for another two shots, as way of nightcap and barely bothers telling the girls goodnight.

He stumbles outside, and the moment the door closes behind him, sealing the music inside and closing off any heat source it hits him that he might not exactly be the most sober he’s ever been. Back inside, surrounded by other drunk, dancing, stumbling bodies he didn’t really feel it. But in the empty, dark and cold street he feels every waver of balance, every blurry image and every rotating light.

_To Rachel, 01:43 – cant go 2 calllbacksnow. Too drunk, embarrass meseld._

The club isn’t particularly far from home so he ignores the taxis and the subway entrance, and starts walking, not quite ready to give up the fresh air for the stuffy train. He bypasses at least two more stops and continues walking and singing all his best audition pieces under his breath. He halts in his steps as his way is suddenly and magnificently illuminated. Shining brightly and beautiful, like the North Star guiding him to the Holy Grail, a McDonalds. Open in all its 24hour round glory.

He laughs and claps his hands to his chest with a smile and skips all the way there singing a little louder than before (he also trips over the sidewalk and takes a spectacular fall, but if no one is there to witness it then it doesn’t count, which means the scrapes and pain are all fictional and he’ll be just fine).

He practically melts into the counter as he recites his order in a drawl. The girl at the register looks about as amused as Severus Snape. She punches it in and accepts his money without uttering a single word or cracking the tiniest smile. But he is a magnanimous soul and for that reason he smiles wide and thanks her profusely when she slides the full tray over in his direction.

A group of guys comes in as Kurt drapes himself into a chair and he doesn’t bother looking up. He has much more important things to do, such as unwrapping his Big Mac. The door opens again, the cool street air feeling nice on his back, but he still has his priorities straight. He focuses on eating his burger, which proves a little more challenging than he ever remembered it being. The tomato keeps slipping out and he keeps have to shove it back inside and try to bite the burger really fast to catch it still in there. He feels triumphant every time he manages it, and he sings a little celebratory song, as he psyches himself up for the battle of the next bite.

The experience would only be enhanced if the group of guys left, because they’re drunk (he may not have any moral to judge but Kurt allows himself the hypocrisy this once) and rowdy in a way that’s interfering with Kurt’s appreciation of this gastronomic miracle.

Also, between the walk, the fresh air, the fall and the food, he’s feeling soberer by the minute and they really are obnoxious, throwing their balled up napkins at each other and howling in laughter one too many times. He finishes the Big Mac with a big sigh of relief and notices the insane mess he’s left on his tray. He grabs the cheeseburger and the box of McNuggets – regretting a little how carried away he got with his order – and shoves them into his pockets. The pack of idiots lets out a howling sound of regret, and Kurt fights the nagging feeling that it’s related to him before he gets up to leave.

One of the guys stumbles, hurrying to position himself between Kurt and the door, and whatever alcohol was still in Kurt’s system, is suddenly replaced with a cold feeling at the base of his spine.

“You leavin’ already?” the boy asks with a slurred voice.

Kurt meets his eyes for a second before he walks around him, and pushes the door open. He doesn’t breathe again until the door is closed and he’s outside alone. He closes his eyes and starts walking.

Three seconds later he hears the door opening and their loud obnoxious voices fill the silent street.

He wants to sprint but there’s a big part of him that hates showing fear, and stupidly it wins. He can hear them, following him, hot on his trail, even as he, as nonchalantly as possible, crosses to the other side of the street. He speeds up his pace, but they do too, and it’s not long before they’re kind of enveloping him in their little circle.

Fuck is the only word in his head, and in the haze of panic, he only manages to catch enough words to know he’s either about to be robbed or beaten up. Probably both. Someone grabs his face, smushing up his cheeks like old women do to little kids, only a little too hard and to the sound of jeering laughter. He yanks his head back but that only earns him another hand grabbing the back of his neck and pushing him back, to receive a couple of little, light, teasing slaps on his cheeks before the hand is being pulled back enough that he knows he’s about to be in pain. It doesn’t come the way he thought it would, though. Suddenly there’s a hand to his chest, strong and pushing him back, but without hurting, and a black blur between himself and the guys. He ends up stumbling backwards, tripping over a sidewalk and a gutter, and harsh pain shoots up his leg from his twisted ankle as he falls back on his butt.

By the time he manages to look up there’s a guy dressed all in black between himself and the pack of guys, and the one who’d been about to strike is on his knees, a few feet further left than he was before, clutching his face. Kurt looks up at the guy who intervened, but he can only make out gelled hair, and a ready to fight stance.

The other guys are looking at the two of them like they’re both insane, and they might have a point – Kurt and Black Blur are outnumbered two to one, even without the guy who took the punch and another who’s standing back with his phone, probably filming the whole thing. Someone chuckles menacingly, and another steps closer, but before anything else can happen, the sounds of small explosions start popping up everywhere, and they’re all doubling over, clutching front and back pockets. The guy who’d been filming drops to his knees, with bloody hands and nothing to show for it anymore – there’s something black, wrecked and fuming on the ground that might have been his phone once upon a time.

They wait for another two seconds, before Black Blur takes an infinite step towards them, and they scamper off at limping sprints. The guy watches them go for a while before he turns around towards Kurt. There’s a bottom half of a ski mask covering his mouth and nose, but as soon as he’s crouched down next to Kurt, he recognizes the idiotically triangular eyebrows and big hazel eyes.

Blaine’s not particularly hopeful for anonymity either, it seems, because he pulls the mask down at once, and doesn’t play games. “Kurt, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“What the fuck just happened?” Kurt finds himself asking as Blaine frets, hands hovering and looking at Kurt’s hands clutching his aching ankle.

“Never mind that now, are you okay?” Blaine repeats, pointing towards Kurt’s ankle. “Did you hurt your ankle?”

“I-yes, but it’s fine,…”

“We should take you to the hospital, I’ll get a cab, wait here.” Blaine shoots up and is off before Kurt can say stop. Kurt sighs in defeat and hangs his head, as he watched Blaine hurriedly strip his hoodie and mask before hailing a cab.

When a cab finally pulls up, Blaine bends over, moving as if he’s about to hoist Kurt up, but he bats his hands away. “I’m fine, it’s just a sprained ankle. I’m _fine_.” He hoists himself alone, ignoring the worried gaze the best he can, and swallowing the pain as much as possible. It’s significantly worse than he thought it would be.

Blaine holds the door open for him and then climbs inside, telling the cab driver to go to the nearest emergency room before Kurt can start saying his own address. They start moving and the car is suddenly filled with one of the most awkward silences Kurt has ever experienced. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the cool window glass.

Suddenly it clicks and he gasps.

He must still be a little drunk, because it should not have taken him this long to make the connection.

“You’re the guy who saved Rachel!”

Blaine shoots him a panicked look and gestures towards the cab driver who’s now glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

Blaine grabs his phone and types something before he holds it in front of Kurt.

_Yes, I was. Please don’t tell anyone._

They fall back to silence again, and while Kurt refuses to stare at Blaine, he does watch from the corner of his eye, as the other boy fidgets, clearly as uncomfortable with this turn of events as Kurt.

But of course. Of course he had to have fallen in hate with some sort of amateur superhero vigilante.

“So you didn’t go to callbacks tonight?” Blaine asks after what feels like forever. The tone attempts at casualness but falls short.

Kurt is a little past the point of niceties. He’s in pain, confused and a bit nauseous too. “No. I thought you’d be there.”

Blaine’s lips quirk up into the tiniest smile for a moment. “I couldn’t make it, either. I had plans.”

“Clearly.” Kurt eyes him. “Are we cursed to randomly run into each other at the worst times possibly, though? I’m not sure I can handle many more of these coincidences.”

“You think this was a bad time for me to run into you? You certainly have your priorities straight, Mr. I Was About To Lose My Personal Belongings And Good Looks.” Blaine tells him with a quirked eyebrow and a look of contempt. “Anyway, hardly coincidences…” Blaine shrugs, “We go to the same school, similar programs, live in the same neighborhood and have friends in common. I’m pretty sure it’s kind of… expectable to run into each other.”

“At a 2-“ he checks the time on the car’s console, “3 am on a Saturday? Outside a random McDonalds…? I should go to the police and file for a restraining order, stalker.” He may not mean it, and it may show in his voice, but he does make sure to shoot Blaine a glare.

“Jesus Christ, Kurt. For someone who was just about to get mugged and beat up in the process, you’re really unhappy I saw you go into that McDonald’s.” Blaine muses, the traces of easy amusement slipping further away from his voice, and Kurt barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes. He is not about to say thank you to the king of self-righteousness.

“Wait.” He frowns as it sinks. “You saw me go in?”

Blaine snorts. “I saw you skip across the street singing at the top of your lungs – didn’t even bother to look before crossing the road, too – fall flat on your face, go into McDonald’s and I saw that group of guys following you in. They didn’t look very… nice. I wanted to be sure they wouldn’t try anything funny.”

“So you waited outside the whole time? What, were you gonna follow me home, Edward? For my own good?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t wait outside. I got front row seats to the sad spectacle of Kurt Hummel eating a Big Mac while drunk off his face.” He laughs with surprising bite to it and Kurt can feel his own cheeks heating up at the thought of it. “Speaking of which, excuse me-” Blaine pulls his sleeve over his hand and reaches towards Kurt’s face, who flinches, but Blaine continues and wipes the fabric across Kurt’s chin. “You had a ton of mayonnaise there… It’s been driving me insane.”

Kurt locks his jaw shut and wills the boiling blood to find somewhere other than his cheeks to torment, like his toe or whatever.

Finally the cab driver pulls up to the emergency entry, and Blaine shoves some bills in his hand before Kurt can reach for his own wallet. It only serves to aggravate him more. Once again, he has to bat Blaine’s hands away, as he stumbles slightly out of the car claiming not to need any help. He starts on a limp towards the door and Blaine moves closer but Kurt glares.

“It’s just a sprained ankle. Lay off, Sandra Dee.”

Blaine looks at him for what must be like half a minute (realistically speaking, though, probably not), a frown over his features, maybe even a little hurt. Finally he shakes his head.

“I guess you’ll be fine now. No need for me to stay here.” He shrugs and turns on his heel, walking away at a brisk pace.

There’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of Kurt’s stomach as he watches him go, but he only allows himself to feel vindicated and relieved.

-

He leaves the exam room with a brand new crutch and a tightly wrapped, severely sprained ankle, only to find a disheveled looking Rachel waiting for him.

“Kurt!” she gasps jumping off the waiting room chair and throwing her arms around him. “Oh my god, are you okay? I was so worried!”

“Why are you here?” he frowns, pulling away and fishing his phone out of his pocket, he has quite the number of new texts and missed calls.

“Blaine called telling me he’d just dropped you off at the ER. Asking if any of us could come keep you company while you waited and take you home – but we got here a little too late for the first part. Santana’s just getting some coffee, she should be back any moment.” She stops to breathe and then seems to the think better of her ramble. “What the hell happened?”

“Oh, _we_ have to _talk_.” Kurt glares at her, but that’s also when Santana walks up to them with two cups of coffee.

“Here,” she hands one to Rachel. “You’re here. Good, let’s go home,” she says, looking uncharacteristically robotic, with drooping, sleepy eyes. She dumps her un-sipped coffee in the trash before she starts towards the exit.

“She drank a little too much. She’s been sick twice already.” Rachel explains without prompting and the two follow her outside.

Santana’s already managed to hail a cab and they all shuffle in. She closes her eyes and presses a hand to her temples at once and Kurt takes the opportunity to turn to Rachel, phone in hand. He jams his finger at it, alternating between making sure it’s legible and glaring at her.

_BLAINE WAS THE ONE WHO SAVED YOU AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?????_

She reads it and looks startled for a moment, before she smiles sheepishly and takes it to reply.

_He asked me to keep it a secret. You should too._

_What the fuck was that?? He blew up all of their phones! What even?_

Kurt feels insane just writing that. Surely it was a coincidence, or a hallucination, or Blaine has some sort of short range device that blows up bad people’s phones and spares Kurt’s.

_I don’t think I should be the one sharing the story and the details, K. I think you should talk to him._

Kurt glares at her, but she doesn’t give in.

_ONLY HIM. Don’t be stupid. Don’t go around talking about it._

He gives her a look. He’s not yet brainless, thank you very much. Besides, it’s not like anyone would actually believe him. This is the stuff of comic books, not real life. And Kurt doesn’t particularly care for comic books.

Still he can’t quite help himself when he squints his eyes and asks, “Wait, is this why you’re practically in love with him?”

Rachel shoots him a disbelieving glare and actually reaches around him to slap the back of his head. She grabs the phone and starts typing furiously.

_I owe him my physical integrity. Possibly my life, who knows? I owe him more than I’ve ever owed anyone in my life ever, except maybe my dads. Even if he wasn’t perfectly nice and a really good person, I would be forever grateful for what he did for me. And you should too. I never thought I of all people would be the one telling you of all people this, but you need to grow up and say thank you. You owe him that, at least. You owe him your respect._

Kurt locks his phone and pockets it without sparing her another glance.

-

It’s been almost a week and while he’s promised Rachel (if only to make her shut up) he would call Blaine to set up sometime for them to talk properly about what happened, he can’t quite make himself do it. It’s partly because the moment he does he’ll have to admit to himself, if not to Blaine Sanctimonious McSelf-Righteous, that he does owe Blaine a thank you, and that he was fantastically rude that night, and he barely has alcohol as an excuse.

In the end the universe nudges –no, shoves him into it. He’s buying his most embarrassing set of comfort food ever, ready for the self-service checkout and sighing at the length of the queues (he considers braving the normal checkouts, but those are even worse on a Friday evening rush-hour), when he spots _him_. First in line for one of the self-service checkouts, with an arm full of shampoo bottles and other meaningless and not-at-all embarrassing products. He’s smiling, with ear buds in his ear and swaying gently to a rhythm. He seems to lose himself in the music for a moment, almost dancing, before he catches himself and glances around – probably to check if anyone was watching the idiotic scene. With his luck, Kurt prepares himself to be found staring, but instead, Blaine ends up noticing that the person behind him in line is a quivering old lady with a basket full of stuff.

Kurt watches in horror as Blaine gestures for her to go forward, in front of him.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Kurt can’t help muttering, scowling through all the episode, and watching as Blaine eventually steps up to help the old lady deal with the machine.

He closes his eyes and rubs his temple with his free hand.

Kurt does realize the insanity of this all. Were it anyone else, Kurt would be swooning and cooing along with pretty much everyone who also noticed the interaction. Were it anyone else, Kurt would probably be hoping the guy was gay and orchestrating a master plan to ensure himself a date, a whirlwind romance, a beautiful wedding and a lifetime of dapper happiness.

Instead he just feels prickly and annoyed, and in need of shaking all of the ennui off his body and soul. He does, and that’s when he loses some of his mostly one-footed balance, and his shopping basket of frozen pizza, marshmallows, ice-cream, mars bars and Cheetos ends up hitting the stupid, intricately set up display of washing detergent boxes, collapsing them all to the floor in a spectacle of noise and powdery visuals that gets the whole store stopping to stare at him.

And _that’s_ when Blaine does spot him.

Kurt knew he shouldn’t have gone to the grocery store right next to campus. He knew it.

He stifles his groan and pretends to get ready to bend over and start cleaning up his mess, even though it’s pretty much useless because he’s not about to spend two hours recreating the idiot pyramid.

A couple of employees come over to take care of it, assuring him it’s no problem at all, but hell if that means that everyone else has returned to their previous activities and stopped staring. Kurt straightens his back and smiles with a small shrug, before directing his eyes to the ceiling and pretending like nothing’s happened, leaning carefully on his crutch, away from the mess. Slowly, everyone goes back to minding their own business, and Kurt manages to exhale and relax slightly.

He chances a glance towards the most problematic area – the Blaine area. He finds him looking back with a smile that might be meant to tease Kurt, or just flat out humiliate him. Blaine ends up giving up his place in the queue altogether and doing the worst possible thing he could’ve done in that moment. He walks over.

Kurt has half a mind to throw his entire basket over the shelf and flee the store, but he somehow manages to remember he lives in the real world, where he would probably hit someone over the head with it, cause another disturbance, and probably be arrested for assault.

“Hi,” Blaine chirps, too cheerful for Kurt’s liking. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fine.”

Blaine continues smiling and holding Kurt’s eye for a long moment, before he raises his eyebrows and takes a small breath, looking much too amused as he starts talking again. “I’m good too, thank you for asking.”

Kurt barely manages to suppress his groan. In fact he’s pretty sure a small part of it escapes.

“I meant to call you, actually,” he finally says, knowing perfectly well it comes out like it pains him to say it.

“Oh?” Blaine cocks his head to the side, looking genuinely surprised.

“I… We should talk about what happened… on Saturday.”

Blaine’s cheeks go a little red and he looks around the two of them before he bites his lip and offers, “Do you want to come over for a bit?”

Kurt shoots a glance at the ice-cream in his basket and immediately regrets it because suddenly Blaine’s looking at his basket. Kurt watches him closely for signs of judgment but finds none.

“We have a freezer you can use.” He shrugs. “It’s just that I don’t want to risk anyone overhearing… if… if you’re gonna want to ask about…”

“I am.”

“Well, then. We should go to my place. If you’re not busy now.”

He sighs, defeated. “I guess I’m not.”

-

Blaine’s apartment, which he explains is shared with Sam, is the exact opposite of the loft. It’s light and airy, without _any_ clutter, but somehow it works almost as well as the loft does with its hobo-chic clutter. The walls are expertly painted barely off-white, except for the window wall, which is coated in a nice pale aquamarine color that almost matches the throw pillows on the yellow couch – it works without looking matchy-matchy and straight out of an Ikea catalogue. There is a big, strangely beautiful Star Wars poster on one wall, and three simple small frames with pictures on the opposite wall (Kurt’s not really sure, but they look like family photos).

“This is nice.” The compliment spills out of Kurt’s lips before he can stop it, and Blaine looks as surprised by it as Kurt.

“Thank you.” He smiles, “I thought that, with as tight a budget as Sam and I were on, our only real option at a cohesive line of decoration would be minimalism. And I managed to talk the landlady into painting that wall there – I’m still not quite sure how I did that, but it really made a big difference. It completely opened up the room, and I personally love how it doesn’t quite match the pillows. I was adamant I didn’t want an Ikea house – even though most of the stuff actually is from Ikea… because you know, there’s only enough money…”

“Yeah.” Kurt nods simply and Blaine suddenly looks embarrassed at his little ramble. It brings up a small feeling of guilt to Kurt’s stomach, because if he’s being honest, he would have another ramble of his own to grace Blaine with, made up of agreeing thoughts and complimenting ideas. But then he might be trapped into an amiable conversation with Blaine, and he’s suddenly certain that that would be incredibly dangerous.

“Anyway, let me put your ice-cream in the freezer before it melts completely.” Blaine reaches for it, and Kurt digs in his bag, handing it over and watching as Blaine disappears into a door to their left. When Blaine returns, Kurt realizes he hasn’t moved an inch or stopped staring at the kitchen door. “So,” Blaine claps his hands business-like, “I assume you’re not interested in a grand tour. Might as well just jump into it, shall we? Take a seat.”

Kurt nods and sits on the far end of the couch. Blaine mirrors his movement, as far from Kurt as possible, but twists his body to face him, and hugs a pillow to his torso.

“I have to ask you that this conversation stay in complete confidence.” Blaine says, all traces of the teasing and amused tone he usually wears gone.

“Sure.” Kurt shrugs.

“I mean it. This is… kind of weird and scary for me, and I’m… Well, I know we’re not on the best of terms, but I hope you understand... this isn’t…”

“Chill, Sandra Dee. I won’t tell anyone whatever is happening.”

“I hope you know my name is actually Blaine.”

Kurt smirks but doesn’t bother saying anything.

“So… Okay. Confidentiality established. I don’t… What do you want to know?”

The smirk drops and Kurt suddenly feels uneasy and reminded of the real reason this conversation is even happening in the first place. He feels insanity creeping at him. “What happened…? How can… Was it you? That… you know… blew up their phones?”

Blaine shrugs and nods with a slightly pained expression. “Yeah.”

“But I don’t get it. Did you like… decide to become some sort of vigilante and built some machine that-”

Blaine chuckles, “No, not at all.”

“So you’re not like… taking some weird obsession with Batman or Iron Man a little too far or anything…?”

“I’d never have pegged you as a comics fan.” Blaine frowns with a smile.

“I’m not.” Kurt shrugs with an eye-roll. “But I don’t live under a rock either…”

“Fair enough…” Blaine hugs the pillow a little tighter. “Not Iron Man or Batman. More like…” he pauses to think about it, “More like the Fantastic Four, I guess.”

Kurt keeps his face stoic as he wracks his brain for hints but finds none. “Please elaborate.”

If he had blinked in that moment he would’ve missed Blaine’s split second smirk. “I was making a mug cake in the microwave, waiting for it to be ready, and then the microwave exploded. Luckily I wasn’t hurt. But a couple of weeks later I started noticing that whenever I got angry or just… overall emotional in any way, electronic devices would… explode.”

Kurt can’t do anything but stare back.

“I know it’s not the most amazing of origin stories, but it’s the truth… I can also heat things up…” he adds with a self-conscious eye roll, laying is hand over the back of the couch, and suddenly Kurt’s surrounded by heat, where he’s touching the couch.

He yelps and jumps off it, “What the fuck?!”

Blaine lets out a deep breath and rubs his face in a gesture that looks more tired than anything else. “Now imagine how I felt…”

“You need to go to the Hospital!” Kurt gasps after a while in shocked silence.

“And be turned into a lab rat?” Blaine shakes his head. “No… I know there’s not really a SHIELD organization and that we’re not in the Marvel Universe, Kurt, but the real world is even worse. This would get me on a table under bright lights, and people with masks, and gloves, and scalps. _Best_ case scenario they’d keep me in a cell forever.”

“But what if-what if these are symptoms of something… of… I don’t know. Of some disease? This just doesn’t sound healthy to me!”

With a bitter-sounding chuckle, Blaine gets up as well. “You don’t think I haven’t thought of that as well? I’ve googled so many different things and ideas that I have nothing else I can think of. I lie awake at night, wondering when I’m gonna finally find out this was cancer all along and that I’m about to die. But… I can’t risk it. I’m not a conspiracy theory nut, I’m really not. But science-fiction is happening now, and everyone knows that. I’d be insane to go to the authorities with it, and I just…” He sighs dejectedly. “I just know that whatever happens to me, as it is right now, can’t be worse than having weapon manufacturers trying to make me into one… or… something like that. And as crazy as it sounds… it really is what would happen, sooner or later.”

Kurt doesn’t have a way to respond to that. Blaine’s had time to think about it, and look into it, and Kurt has to admit… he’s got a point.

“Ok, so you’re keeping it a secret. And now what…? You decided to go into the vigilante business, is that it?”

“I’ve been… experimenting.” He grimaces. “That night was only the third time I’d ever done it. And I’ve only done it again one time this week.”

“Was Rachel the first time you did it?”

“No – I mean, well yes. But not like that. She was the first person I… intervened with. I was barely sure that this was me – I was still hoping they were all freak coincidences. I was just walking home and I heard her screaming, so I didn’t think, I just helped.” He looks almost miserable as he explains the whole thing. “I even had to change my hair, because she took that picture and I was afraid someone would recognize the way I had it.”

Kurt opens his mouth to speak but ends up without any words to say. Instead he lets himself fall back on the couch, the realization of the impossibility of what happened finally hitting him a week later.

“Jesus Christ…” he mutters.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a religious person either…” Blaine says in a tentative tone, and when Kurt looks up he finds him smiling slightly.

He can’t help returning it for a moment. “Only when everything’s gone impossibly insane.”

They sit in silence for a while. Kurt lets it sink in, but it’s not easy at all.

“So, are you going to be a superhero, now?”

“I don’t know…” Blaine shrugs. “I don’t really feel like one… Like I could even be one. Maybe it’s just the comic book geek in me, but… I mean, generally speaking, of what I can do,… blowing cell phones up seems so… lame. It’s not like I can save the city from an alien invasion or like… Godzilla or whatever…” He finishes with a grimace and Kurt finds himself laughing.

“Well, first of all, if I remember correctly from when I was forced to watch it with my dad and brother, it took all of the Avengers to save New York from the alien invasion.”

Blaine smiles, and Kurt doesn’t quite manage to stomp away the dangerous thought that he looks handsome and pretty at the same time. “But what about Godzilla?”

“I didn’t watch that movie.” Kurt shrugs and Blaine laughs in a way that’s bashful and puts Kurt a little on edge. “And besides, if there’s a robot army – which I’m relatively sure is the premise of like Terminator, and the other Avengers, and pretty much half the sci-fi movies made nowadays - you’re our savior.”

Blaine drops back to the couch, burying his face in his hands as he chuckles. He scrubs his face for a second and resurfaces with a deep breath, slightly flushed and smiling, “Yeah. I guess. I’ll just keep exploding hoodlums’ phones until my true destiny calls.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say to that, so they fall into silence again.

“I should go,” he points out, wanting nothing but to escape the awkwardness.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I just… Yeah, um, I’m gonna go.”

He makes it all the way to the door, grabbing his shameful groceries bag and his satchel, but even as close to a successful exit as he is, he can’t help the guilt explosion. “I actually-I guess, I also wanted to apologize for how rude I was and thank you for… saving me, I guess.”

Blaine looks stunned, the ghost of a smile on his face, before he lets it bloom into a grin and he says, “Apology accepted and of course.”

“Okay, so… Yeah.” Kurt manages to somehow open the door behind his back. “I’ll, hum, see you around, Sandra Dee,” he says, slipping outside.

“Sure,” he catches. He’s almost at the stairwell, when Blaine’s voice calls out. “Does that make you Rizzo?”

Kurt looks back. Blaine is holding himself diagonally, hanging one-handed from his doorframe. He looks amused.

“I guess.”

Blaine makes a show of frowning and twisting his nose.

“What?!”

“It’s just that she’s my favorite character…”

“Oh, huh, I-”

“Just don’t ruin her for me, Kurt,” Blaine quips and pulls himself back inside, leaving Kurt staring at him like a gaping fish.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Part 3: The Zigzagging

Blaine stares at his phone and the open draft of a text to Rachel. He can’t possibly ask Tina for Kurt’s number, and even asking Rachel has him itching uncomfortably. But surely, asking her to tell Kurt that he forgot his ice-cream here wouldn’t be… whatever it is Blaine is afraid it would be. He frowns at himself and closes the text without sending. He can easily find Kurt on Facebook and see if he has messages from strangers disabled or not, and maybe cut the middleman altogether. Plus it’s less awkward like that. Without the girls getting silly ideas in their heads.

Silly, silly girls.

He sighs and lazily goes through Rachel’s Facebook for a sign of Kurt. It doesn’t take long, before there’s a picture where he’s tagged, and he clicks it. Kurt has his profile mostly private, but the little envelope is there and allowing Blaine to get in contact.

He’s just about to hit send on “You left your ice-cream in my freezer.” when his cell buzzes with a new text, right next to his hand. His finger abandons the trajectory towards the “enter” button and instead swipes across the phone screen.

_From Unknown, 1:56pm - You stole my ice-cream._

Blaine finds himself chuckling.

**To Kurt, 1:57pm – I did not. Slanderous accusations. You left it here. I merely gave you a temporary freezing space for it, and you abused my hospitality with taking up my precious freezer space with your ice-cream for almost a day longer than previously agreed.**

_From Kurt, 2:01pm – Ahah. Anyway, you can keep it. Yesterday, I might have overestimated my need for sugar and I couldn’t possibly touch it with a ten-foot pole in the next two years._

**To Kurt, 2:02pm – lol, don’t worry. It can wait for you to be ready to take it back. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your food (it’s damn nice ice-cream, you’d be sad) no matter the time it takes. You can get in touch with me in two years’ time and I’ll send it over.**

Blaine’s smile and surprise at the small, but somehow friendly conversation, starts to fade as for the next ten minutes there’s no reply. Eventually he gives up on it, and considers it a job done: Kurt knows where his ice-cream is and there’s nothing more for them to talk about. It was silly of him to think that, with a single peaceful, honest conversation and a few texts, they would get over the animosity and maybe step into friendship. That would be way too many expectations.

Still, there’s some relief when the phone finally does buzz again.

_From Kurt, 2:15pm – I actually meant to talk to you about something else. It pains me to admit it, but I owe you. Because you did that thing that kind of kept me from getting mugged, punched or whatever was gonna happen. And I’m not particularly comfortable living with that knowledge, so I’ve been thinking and your wardrobe choices for vigilantism are pitiful, and I thought I could repay you by designing your… whatever you want to call it. So, there. Let me know what you think._

Blaine frowns at his phone, the dark feeling of dislike for Kurt creeping back up. _This guy is unbelievable._ Every time it seems like they might be making progress into not hating each other he always manages to backtrack and act like knowing Blaine was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

He’s felt inadequate and not enough many times in his life, but this guy definitely takes the cake. At least with everyone else Blaine knew what it was that made them sneer at him (that made his dad walk away), and it was something he could find the courage in himself to be proud of and unapologetic for. But with Kurt, it’s like the guy doesn’t want to like Blaine at all, and Blaine only wishes he could feel the same, but it’s just not in his nature to act like this.

Blaine rolls his eyes and forces himself to reply.

**To Kurt, 2:20pm – You don’t owe me anything you don’t want to give me. I didn’t do it to get anything in return. The black clothes work just fine, because blending into the shadows is kind of crucial. You can go back to your perfect life of disliking me. I promise I won’t hold it over your head that I once did something nice for you.**

_From Kurt, 2:23pm – Don’t be stupid. I’m offering here. Just let me do this._

**To Kurt, 2:25pm – How could I possibly refuse this offer from someone who so clearly enjoys me so much they would rather go through the trouble of making me an outfit than to simply say “thank you for helping me” and entertain the possibility of being nice to me and not calling me stupid?**

_From Kurt, 2:26pm – Okay, you’re overreacting. I did say thank you. You helped me, I want to help you, that is all. No need to pop any veins._

**To Kurt, 2:27pm – It’s like you can’t even go a single text without insulting or diminishing me in some way.**

_From Kurt, 2:28pm – I couldn’t possibly diminish you anymore than it already is the case, Thumbelina._

**To Kurt, 2:28pm – Are you serious right now?**

Blaine can’t believe his eyes. He can feel his jaw lock and his hand grip his phone a little too tight and he knows that he should be calming himself down and avoid nasty consequences, but he can’t keep himself from feeling the most unnerved he’s felt in months. It’s a testament to his evolution with his powers that nothing beyond small crackling sounds occurs.

_From Kurt, 2:30pm – Okay, I’m sorry. That was silly of me. But come on. You’re acting a little unreasonable. I just want to do something for you. That’s it. Quid pro quo. And if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll still say thank you again at the end._

**To Kurt, 2:35pm – Sure. Whatever. I just want you to be able to live with yourself. Come over tomorrow.**

_From Kurt, 2:36pm – Okay, Sandra Dee. 3pm._

The insanity of what he just agreed to leaves Blaine a little paralyzed. He has to make sure Sam stays home tomorrow afternoon, otherwise he might actually kill someone and ruin his life forever.

Not five minutes later and he gets another text, from Rachel.

_I hear you and Kurt are finally on a road to mutual understanding. He tells me he’s doing something nice for you! Woohoo! I’m glad he followed my advice! Maybe we can ALL be friends soon enough :D_

So, it’s not just that Kurt can’t stand owing him. It’s that he can’t stand Rachel nagging him to be friends with him. And Blaine’s just agreed to spend an afternoon with him. Great.

He can’t help but spend the rest of his day brooding and unable to do anything but marathon shows, and go back and forth in his decision to eat the freaking ice-cream. He may need comfort food, but he’s not exactly keen on admitting to Kurt that he ended up eating the stupid thing. Instead, he settles on ordering pizza and spending a little too much money on dessert options.

When Sam comes home, he takes a look at the coffee table covered in half eaten pizza and cookies, at Blaine curled up on the couch, and Downton Abbey on TV and lets out a low whistle.

Blaine pretends to pout and wipe a fictional, over-dramatic tear away before he shrugs and opens the explanation with, “Kurt is an asshole.”

“Seriously?” Sam frowns sitting down and taking a slice at once. “I thought you were… better?”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.” Blaine shrugs. “I mean, yesterday was… almost nice. We weren’t like… friendly or anything, but we weren’t hate-serenading each other and I thought it was a start, you know?” He sits up a little and pauses the episode. “And then today we were texting, and again, it was mostly okay, some might even say it was _playful_ , and then out of the blue he just… turns into a jerk.”

“Let me see it.” Blaine hands him the phone with the text conversation open, and Blaine watches him read through the entire thing. “Wow.”

“I’m not overreacting, am I? He was a jerk…”

“He really can’t stand to feel like he’s in your debt, can he?” Sam sighs and puts the phone back on the coffee table. “I assume you want me to be here tomorrow.”

Blaine smiles and bats his eyelashes, to which Sam laughs.

“I think it’ll be a show worth seeing, anyway…”

“Thanks…”

“Why do you think he hates you so much, though?” Sam muses. “I mean, I know that he heard us talking shit about him, but honestly… at this point it’s just silly to hold a grudge like that.”

“I don’t know…” Blaine shrugs. “Maybe holding grudges is his thing. Maybe I’m just that horrible to him. I knew I’d gone too long without someone hating me… I’ve gotten too comfortable.”

Sam frowns at that, and then gives him a sad smile. “Everyone likes you.”

“Do they?” Blaine shrugs. “Maybe it’s high school all over again, and Kurt’s the only one brave enough to say to my face what everyone else thinks.” He breathes and hugs the pillow a little tighter. “I’ve caught some stares… some whispers… at school.”

“Oh…” Sam doesn’t dismiss it this time. “Seriously?”

“Yeah… but… the thing that bothers me the most is that… in high school, or with my dad… I knew exactly what it was, and I wasn’t… enough of a coward to back down on being out and proud. It was easier to keep my head high and tell myself they were the ones in the wrong. But here... If people don’t like me _here_ , then I have to be honest with myself… maybe they just don’t like _me_. And it’s a little bit harder to find encouraging YouTube videos to keep my spirits up… They’re not homophobes, they just don’t like _me_.”

Sam pauses and squints for a moment. “You know what? So what if they don’t?”

“So what if everyone hates me and talks shit about me behind my back?”

“Yeah, so what? You got scholarships paying your tuition, you’re well on your way to the top of the class, you have more stage experience than any of them put together… You know, the one thing I realized with all that show choir backstage mess back in high school? Where there’s a stage, there’s competitiveness, and where there’s that… there’s…”

“Envy and backstabbing?”

“Exactly.” Sam nods. “So, I guess you wouldn’t be doing something right if you weren’t getting a few snakes around you, man.”

“That’s… oddly comforting.” He smiles softly.

“And besides, aren’t I enough? And your mom, and Tina, and Rachel, and your Warbler buddies? We don’t just like you. We love you, man, and I think that’s a lot more awesome than having a bunch of people who don’t know the first thing about you admiring you for whatever nice smile you have.”

Blaine grins. “Samuel, you are going to be the greatest teacher this country has ever seen.”

“I know.” Sam winks, before he sprawls himself over the entire couch, legs on Blaine’s lap. “Now, how many more times are we going to have to watch this Lady Mary being inundated with suitors and not know who to choose?”

“Ugh.” Blaine groans. “I know. Give _me_ one.”

-

Kurt rings the doorbell at 3pm on the dot and Blaine can just imagine him a minute ago, waiting outside and watching the seconds’ hand on his watch, holding his finger a millimeter away from the bell, waiting for the moment he can finally do it. He chuckles as he opens the door, smiling a little too politely and turning up the volume on “gracious host” mode.

“Hello, Kurt. Come on in. May I take your coat?”

Kurt shoots him a look, but shrugs off the coat nonetheless and hands it over. Resisting the urge to throw it over the couch unceremoniously (it is a really nice coat, after all), he folds it carefully over one arm and starts off towards his bedroom.

“Hey Kurt,” Sam greets from where’s he’s leaning on the kitchen’s doorframe, holding a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. Both Sam and Blaine relish in the way Kurt startles. “Would you like something to eat or drink? A grande non-fat mocha?”

Kurt stops for a moment. “So you do know my usual…?”

Sam just grins and shrugs before he goes back inside the kitchen.

“Of course he knows your order. You’re special to him.”

“Oh really?” Kurt drawls. “In what way?”

“Do you not remember the rudest people you’ve ever interacted with?” He smiles graciously, opens the door to his bedroom and gestures for Kurt to go first. “Now imagine you interact with them on a daily basis.”

“I’m not rude!”

Blaine lets out the tiniest snort before he smiles and nods. “Sure. I must be thinking of some other guy he keeps complaining about, then…” Kurt looks at him as if he might burst with anger at any moment, and Blaine could almost feel guilty at how much it makes him want to laugh. “Anyway, shall we get started on your little quid pro quo project?”

Kurt squints and purses his lips before he takes a sketchbook out of his bag and throws it on Blaine’s bed. “Some ideas.”

It’s as if he can’t even be bothered to pass the damn book hand to hand. Blaine rolls his eyes as he walks over to pick it up from the foot of the bed. He riffles through the pages, finding about ten different looks and variations that, much to his chagrin, are actually quite interesting. It’s certainly a lot better than the caricatures of costumes he managed to come up with. He can’t help a little smile as he realizes they’re all dark in color, which means that Kurt actually took into consideration his comment about the necessity of black. And they’re certainly very stylish.

He looks up from the book to find Kurt pointedly not looking at him, and instead surveying the Broadway posters on his wall. Blaine glances at them, just to make sure none of them were magically replaced by something embarrassing like Spiderman, the Musical or Shrek… But it’s still the same three minimalistic and clean versions of West Side Story, Rent and Hairspray. Looking back at Kurt, he can just tell the other boy is biting his tongue about it, and he has a nice little feeling that whatever it is that he’s holding back is not necessarily criticism.

It must be hard on the idiot, not allowing himself to be nice, kind, or fun. But then again, that’s not Blaine’s problem to fix.

“I like some of these, actually,” he starts, causing Kurt to startle and practically jump at the sound of Blaine’s voice. “But… I kind of need pockets… and overalls are… impractical.”

“You like them?” Kurt frowns and it makes Blaine laugh.

“Did you not want me to like them?”

The question has Kurt a little lost for words, so Blaine decides to put him out of his misery and just get on with it.

“Just sit down and… let’s talk about some of them, okay?”

He takes a seat at the foot of the bed and waits patiently for Kurt to work out his inner dilemma and join him. When he finally does, Blaine opens the sketch book on the first drawing and starts there, working his way through all of them, pointing out what he likes about them, what he doesn’t, and the things that he feels are missing. Kurt doesn’t take criticism particularly well – or at least not when it comes from Blaine – but after the third time that Blaine assures him he’s not trying to put anything down, he starts getting less defensive. It turns out, after a few false starts, to be quite easy for the two of them to come up with a final design that more than satisfies both.

“I’ll admit…” Kurt sighs as he puts the pencil down. “I thought it’d be worse. I thought you’d want a spandex leotard and a big golden S on the chest.”

“You thought I’d want a cheap Halloween Superman costume?” Blaine laughs. “Why? I don’t even like Superman that much. Especially not the last re-boot. I mean, talk about cynicism. I get it, everyone’s horrible and Superman’s wasting his precious time saving a world of selfish people, but that wasn’t what Superman was about… All this cynic’s angst is DC taking the easy way out, if you ask me. The hard thing nowadays is to keep some faith in humanity – that’s the true hero’s journey, and that’s-” he stops as he realizes he’s been rambling for way too long now, and Kurt’s looking at him like he’s certified.

“Well,” Kurt starts with the smile of someone who just had a little too much fun. “I was mostly making a jab at how I think you’re the dollar store version of a goody two shoes Clark Kent. But now I know you don’t like Superman, I’ll steer clear of blue, red and spandex.”

Blaine abandons all pretense of amiability. He glares back at Kurt’s steely blue eyes. “I assume you got everything you need, right? I’ll walk you out.”

“Actually, I just need to get your measures.”

Blaine forces himself not to react in any way too that, besides a simple shrug. “Fine.”

It’s not really like he has anything to be self-conscious about. No ammunition that the guy that hates him can really use against him from this. Well, not besides his height - but anyone with a pair of eyes knows that Blaine’s short, so… he really shouldn’t be feeling nervous about this at all. Not when it’s just Kurt putting a measuring tape from his shoulder to elbow, and then to his wrist. From shoulder to shoulder. From collarbone to waist. Around his arm – well, his bicep, but really, why would that be awkward?… From – oh. He bites his lip, and raises his arms as far away from his torso as possible and twists his face away, so that Kurt can wrap the measuring tape around his waist and not feel like he’s being hugged by the most dislikeable person in his life, right now. And just as that’s over, Kurt drops to his knees, and the only thing making Blaine feel remotely better is the fact that Kurt himself is clearly blushing at that.

Blaine just averts his eyes to the ceiling and waits patiently while Kurt does his thing. He certainly does not ask why Kurt didn’t measure the inseam or his thighs, or his… let’s say _hips_ …, because honestly he’s certainly not going to be the one pointing it out and forcing the two of them to suffer through it. It was awkward enough when Kurt was measuring the biceps, no one needs to know how much worse the ass would’ve been.

“Well,” Kurt comments, blessedly breaking the spectacularly uncomfortable silence that had taken over, “I will certainly be saving money on fabric, Thumbelina.”

“Oh,” Blaine gasps, welcoming the distraction and easily ignoring the jab at his size. “I meant to talk to you about that. Obviously I’ll pay for everything.”

Kurt gives him a look as he finishes shoving all his things back in his bag. “Obviously not.”

Blaine opens his mouth to protest but Kurt’s already out the door. He follows him to the living room, trying to catch his words. “Of course I’m paying for the materials! That’s not up for discussion!”

Sam’s head pops out from the kitchen door, spoon in his mouth as he looks on with interest.

“Hum, I told you I wanted to do this for you, to repay my debt. The whole thing includes the materials. Just stop being a prissy little kid and accept the damn gesture!”

“What, like you couldn’t just accept that I helped you and all you had to say was thank you instead of making me feel like an overbearing idiot for taking you to the _Hospital_?” Blaine groans.

“I _did_ say thank you.”

“Exactly! You’ve thanked me. That’s it. Debt repaid. I promise! I solemnly swear that I will never mention helping you out ever again. You don’t owe me _anything_!”

Kurt looks at him for a long moment through small, fiery eyes and a locked jaw. “Words don’t mean anything. I need to do this. This _is_ my thank you.”

“What’s wrong with just saying it! For god’s sake! I get that Rachel is probably nagging you about how much you both owe me, and I can imagine it’s driving you crazy, thinking about how much you enjoyed hating me and how I did what I did.” He can see in Kurt’s eyes that he’s hit the nail on the head. “But _I’m_ right here, telling you I don’t want this! Dammit, Kurt, why put us through the torture of spending time together, when you clearly despise everything about me?! I’m almost sorry I ever intervened, if it makes you this miserable. Trust me, that thank you was more than enough.”

“Thank you!” Kurt says it like he’s saying Fuck you, all anger-flushed cheeks, and brandishing arms.

“Okay! So you’ve said it twice now! Great! That’s it! Now you don’t have to do anything else and everyone is happier for it and we can go back to not hanging out with our friends for fear that the other might be there.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Kurt scoffs. “Next weekend same time at my place, so I don’t have to get everything from there to here.”

“Why do you even want to do this so badly?” Blaine whines and Kurt looks at him like he’s the most annoying creature on earth. “You hate me. So just…”

“Can we not get into this again?” Kurt sighs, and Blaine doesn’t miss the way he doesn’t deny the hatred. “You’re right. I can’t stand Rachel and her devotion to your cause, and I need something to shut her up. Think of this as another favor you’re doing me. I’m sure you’ll love that feeling. Just come over next weekend… That’s all. And after the costume is finished we can go back to not speaking, and Rachel can stop telling me she told me so and shut the fuck up. But I just can’t stand it right now, and I don’t like owing people things. So _please_. I would be extremely _thankful_ if we could just get through this. So, I’ll see you next Sunday.” Kurt hurries out of the apartment practically slamming the door on his way out and leaving both Sam and Blaine gaping after him.

“So that was intense.” Sam’s back to leaning on the door with a jar of Nutella and a spoonful halfway to his mouth.

“It’s like we take one step forward and two backwards.” Blaine sighs. “I just don’t get why he would want to put himself through the torture of spending time with me, if he’s just gonna insult me at every turn.”

Sam looks at him as if he has something to say but ultimately ends up shoving the spoon in his mouth and shrugging.

“Did you not leave the kitchen at all in the last two hours?”

“I left the kitchen. I was mostly trying to listen in on your thing.” Sam smiles, holding up a glass for demonstration. “But it went quiet for a while at the end and I got scared I was about to listen to angry sex, so I stopped before certain death.”

Blaine grabs a pillow from the couch and throws it with expert aim.

-x-

It’s late afternoon on Wednesday, and Blaine is cursing himself for wasting his night out on the streets instead of sleeping, because sleeping would definitely be more productive than just walking around dark alleys where nothing but garbage disposals was happening. He’s exhausted after a full day of classes, each more tiring than the previous, all of it on three measly hours of sleep. He almost decided to skip class and go home for a nap, but he has an overly active conscience that likes to remind him he’s here on scholarships and that even then his mom is still shelling out a lot of money for him to get the best education possible. He has to go. Even if it is a particularly useless theory lecture that most of his classmates skip anyway (Oh god, what if it’s just him and the Professor again? That was by far the most awkward experience in Blaine’s entire life and he cringes just at the thought).

He pauses in the corridor, considering skipping it after all, when he hears it, from one of the auditoriums down in the hall. Someone is expertly singing _I’m The Greatest Star_ , and there’s something about it that peaks Blaine’s curiosity. He can’t be sure, but it sounds vaguely familiar, and it might just be that it’s not a girl singing it even though they’re singing it in the original key. If that’s the case, Blaine absolutely has to know who it is and send them a bouquet of kudos.

He inches the door open and is flabbergast.

In the barely lit auditorium, Kurt is center stage, twirling… tiny swords?... in his hands, and singing at the top of his lungs. He keeps watching what is, by far, the best rendition he’s seen of that song, discounting Ms Barbra Streisand’s (but maybe just barely). When the song is over, Kurt wipes the sweat off his forehead, pauses for a moment, and starts right from the top.

Blaine has just enough time to spare (and even if he didn’t, he couldn’t care less about his lecture anymore), so he takes a seat in the last row, watching the whole thing from start to finish.

When it’s over and it looks like Kurt is about to do it again, Blaine can’t help himself. “What in god’s name are you hoping to improve there?” he asks with a chuckle.

Kurt shrieks and practically falls backwards over the bench behind him.

“Sorry!” Blaine calls out, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Kurt puts a hand over his eyes, trying to block out the stage lights and look into the audience, so Blaine gets up and walks over to the first row.

“Sorry, I overheard you on my way to class and had to check who it was,” he says to a still shell-shocked Kurt. “I don’t know how I didn’t recognize your voice right away, but then again, you clearly weren’t trying as hard as I thought you were back in Callbacks. If you’d been half as epic that night, I would’ve bowed down and not touched that sacred stage ever again.”

Kurt frowns. “What?”

“I’m complimenting you.” Blaine smirks. “You were incredible.”

“Oh, huh… thanks.” He fidgets, hurriedly wiping his brow with his handkerchief, and Blaine notices how profusely he’s sweating. He must have been practicing for hours now.

“I’m sorry if my compliment makes you uncomfortable, Kurt, but I have this thing about talent… I can’t let it go unnoticed. I’m sure you’ll get top marks on whatever evaluation this is for.” He readjusts his backpack strap over his shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, so we don’t have to start complimenting each other too much just yet.”

Kurt frowns after him, and Blaine’s already halfway across the auditorium when Kurt speaks. “It’s for an audition, actually.”

Blaine pauses and turns around. “What for?”

“West Side Story…” Kurt hops off the stage.

“I thought they were doing Chicago this year.”

“They are. The auditions for that were last month. But some other students wanted to do this… on their own… and they’re holding auditions this week. It’s not the official semester play, but it’s something.”

“Of course.” Blaine grins. “That’s actually really cool. I’m stoked to hear it. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I gathered.” Kurt smirks.

“What role are you auditioning for, then?”

“Tony.” He says it like it’s obvious, and when Blaine frowns, he quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing… it’s… it’s just that, you’re auditioning for Tony with that song?”

“You just said that I was amazing on it. It’s one of my best pieces. It showcases everything that’s unique and great about me. It’s my audition go-to piece.”

Blaine frowns and weighs the pros and cons of honesty. He wants peace between them, and Kurt is certainly not going to be happy hearing what he has to say about it.

Maybe it’d be better to keep his mouth shut, but then again… “I’ll be honest, Kurt. It’s a terrible song to audition for the role of Tony with. Yes, you’re spectacular with it, and it does showcase your range, and your… uniqueness very well, and I’ve never seen anyone do it as brilliantly as you just did. But it doesn’t showcase any of the things that _Tony_ is about. This is a musical, sure, but Tony is still supposed to be a guy’s guy. You don’t need to hit those high notes for Tony. You don’t need to swirl swords for Tony. You need to show… a grounded masculinity, and a romantic poeticism, and… that yearning for something more that he has… That sets him apart from his friends and all the other men in the play.”

“What are you talking about? An audition is supposed to show what the performer can do and-”

“No. An audition is supposed to show that the performer can do _that_ character. It’s not just about _your_ talent, it’s about how well your talent lends to the role you’re going for.”

“But… but… I’m different! I’m _not_ conventional, that’s the point. That’s the whole thing that sets me apart, I can’t just… sing Something’s Coming and be done with it…”

Blaine finds himself smiling, as he shrugs. “But Tony _is_ conventional. Or at least he starts off as conventional, and finds something extraordinary in himself, which is his love for Maria… that makes him strive to be better, and different. But his character is not about… breaking molds and setting himself apart. His barriers aren’t gender conventions… his barriers are the people telling him he can’t be with Maria. He’s just some guy in love, with the world against him. And I’m pretty sure you could relate to that part of him better than most people.” He offers a knowing smile that Kurt doesn’t entirely return, continuing to frown at Blaine like he’s saying something barbaric or destroying his dreams.

“Yeah, but… I can’t just... acting isn’t… pretending that I’m just someone else for fun… it’s about me, it’s about baring _my_ soul on a stage.”

“Maybe. But it’s doing that through someone else’s words and actions. And your job is to make them yours. It’s not about just _you_. It’s also about the character, and truly understanding what makes them tick. Identifying with them! So you and the character can become one. But if _you_ can’t, if you’re just too different, then you cheat. You make up an identity that does and you forget yourself completely. Listen, I’m sure you have so much to offer Tony and make him a completely different Tony than any of us have ever seen, but it still has to be _Tony_. So I think you need to ask yourself if there’s a Tony in there. If you can bring forth the parts of yourself who speak to him, and, on that stage, eliminate the ones that don’t.”

Silence reigns over the whole auditorium, a little heavy as Kurt seems to take in Blaine’s advice.

Taking a chance, Blaine reaches out to squeeze Kurt’s shoulder – quickly, but amiably. “Nobody wants Tony to love the person he does. You know what that feels like better than most people. Just think about that.”

Kurt is staring at Blaine as if he’s given him a riddle to solve. There’s a line between his eyebrows, and his eyes jump from spot to spot, unfocused and restless. His mouth his agape as if he wants to say something, but hasn’t figured out what it is yet.

It’s cute.

Oh. Wait. No.

“Anyway,… I have class, so…um, good luck with that, I guess.” Blaine nods politely before he turns and leaves, shaking his head to himself. “I’ll see you S-Sunday.” He shoots it over his shoulder much to his own horror. He’d more than decided he wasn’t going to show up on Sunday, and now he’d just confirmed it?!

-x-

Over the rest of the week he has to stop himself several times from cancelling his thing with Kurt on Sunday. He can barely deal with the thought of Kurt disliking him for no particular reason, but to have feelings for Kurt on top of that? Blaine knows his taste in men is questionable to say the least, but he will not be the idiot that falls for a person that openly hates him – no matter how talented or adorable that person can be.

However, he’s also not going to be the one that folds in their little power play.

So, whatever. He’ll survive Sunday afternoon, and whatever other time is needed to finish the whole thing, and then that’s it. Not nearly enough time to actually develop feelings, and so, absolutely no reason to cancel it.

Besides, it’s Saturday already, so, if he’s made it this far without cancelling, he can certainly make it till tomorrow and force himself into doing it.

He shoves his phone into his bag and leaves the gym’s locker room, resolute on it. He’s just not counting on finding Kurt at the entrance corridor, surrounded by five or six girls and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

They haven’t run into each other at the gym since the treadmill fiasco. Blaine’s kept his workouts in the afternoons, and he can only assume Kurt’s moved his back to mornings like before.

Indeed, Kurt doesn’t quite look like he’s here to work out, dressed in tight jeans and another one of his gorgeous, impeccable pea coats. A fact that the girls seemed to have missed, all cajoling him to join them for an impromptu Yoga session – they must be his Yoga instructees, Blaine thinks he recognizes some of them – and jumping from one idea to the other whenever he refuses a suggestion. Kurt alternates between grinding his teeth and giving them false smiles.

Knowing that he should’ve just walked by and left Kurt to his fiery pits of hell, Blaine stops on his way out and interrupts what is clearly a fake promise to go out on the town again with them.

“Hey, Kurt, here you are. We’d better hurry up, or we’ll be late.”

Kurt looks at him, torn between frustration and relief, and Blaine knows he made the right choice after all. There might be the crippling fear of what spending time with Kurt might lead to, but there’s also satisfaction in knowing he’s just done him another favor and that Kurt will hate it.

“Yeah, we’d better.”

“Excuses us, ladies,” Blaine says with what he knows is an expertly polite smile that no one can say no to. He puts a light hand on Kurt’s back and directs him to the exit.

Kurt practically throws the door closed. “If any of them call me their best gay again…” he mumbles, looking a little murderous. “I should never have agreed to that first night out. They think we’re bff’s, now.”

“And what am I getting out of this one? Will you redecorate my kitchen?” Blaine teases.

Kurt glares at him, and finishes buttoning up his coat. “Thank you.” He glances up at Blaine before he starts walking, unfortunately in the same direction as Blaine.

“You’re welcome,” Blaine says, and then refrains from pointing out how easy and painless that was, knowing it would only make Kurt’s irritation worse. “How was your audition?”

Kurt grimaces before he shrugs and says matter-of-factly, “I was just turning in my two weeks notice. I don’t have time to instruct yoga anymore. I got the part.”

“Oh!” Blaine gasps, “Congratulations! I guess I wrong! I stand corrected.”

“No,” Kurt mutters, voice so low it’s barely audible over the traffic and city sounds. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I wasn’t?”

“No. I didn’t- I changed the audition song.” Kurt shrugs, saying it like it’s final and he doesn’t want to talk about it any further.

And that’s when Blaine knows he’s getting into deep trouble – when that stops being annoying and infuriating and makes Blaine laugh instead. Kurt side-eyes him and quirks an eyebrow.

“I guess I apologize for giving you good advice and… helping you… again…” He intends his smile to be teasing and not smug, but he also hopes Kurt interprets it as the latter.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but Blaine thinks there was a ghost of a smile there. When he speaks again, Blaine knows he wasn’t wrong. “You know I can’t renovate your whole closet, right?”

“Maybe I’m just doing these things to annoy you.”

Kurt laughs. “I knew the perfect gentleman thing was just an act.”

Blaine can’t really say anything to that, because, in a way, Kurt’s just called Blaine a perfect gentleman, so instead he smiles and looks away.

“What are you doing right now?” Kurt asks.

“I was gonna do some readings for an essay, but it’s not urgent, why?”

“Maybe you could come over, to see about the costume?” Kurt offers. “It’s about as advanced as it will be tomorrow, and we might as well just do it now.” He almost looks nervous, suggesting it. And dammit, it _is_ cute.

Maybe Blaine was completely wrong. Maybe a few fittings for a stupid suit is well beyond enough time to develop feelings for Kurt. “Oh, um… Okay.”

The way over is spent mostly in silence. Thankfully the awkwardness of it fades into something quite manageable and Blaine finds himself comfortable after a while.

On the subway they end up sitting in front of an old lady who’s wearing every color the human eye can perceive and Blaine can feel the judgment and amusement radiating off of Kurt, so he leans over towards her and compliments her on her vivacious outfit. It gets her blushing and shushing him adorably and when he turns to glance at Kurt, he finds him tucking his chin against his neck to disguise his chuckles beneath the scarf. He ignores the fuzzy feeling in his gut and turns back to the old lady, easily keeping her entertained in simple conversation. The ride turns out to be shorter than he expected and he’s almost disappointed as he bids her goodbye, touching the top of his head, as if he was tipping a gentleman’s hat, and winking at her.

“So you have a fetish for old ladies, then?” Kurt asks when the doors have slid shut.

Blaine grins, “What can I say, they know what they’re doing, and they know what they want. Experience is severely underrated in this world.”

Kurt snorts, rather ungracefully too, and Blaine feels his smile grow even more. Maybe it’s not as hopeless as he thought… maybe this really is the end of the idiocy.

“As long as you’re not scamming them for their money…”

“Well…” Blaine pretends to falter, and Kurt snorts again. “Do you mind if we stop for coffee first?”

“No, that sounds heavenly.” Kurt points at a small café a block away, “Our coffee machine is disgusting. I’ve given up on it a long time ago, but the addiction remains.”

“Wouldn’t it be cheaper to buy a new machine, instead of buying coffees every day?”

Kurt shrugs and smiles, “And healthier, too. But I don’t know, the campus café isn’t that expensive, and the coffee is good.”

“You like the campus café?” Blaine frowns before he can stop himself. He immediately regrets asking it, knowing that it ties into the feud.

“Yeah, of course I do. Why would I go everyday if I didn’t like it?”

“Huh, no reason, I was… just surprised.”

“Why?”

“No reason, really.” Blaine shrugs. Somehow saying that Sam’s always thought Kurt hated the place and everyone in it doesn’t seem very productive.

“Wait.” Kurt stops with his hand on the door to the café, all traces of the hard earned amiability now gone. “Does this have anything to do with Sam remembering my coffee order because I’m supposedly so rude?”

Dammit. Blaine barely manages to keep himself from hitting his head against the glass. “Might be.”

“How so?” Kurt quirks an eyebrow, and it seems clear that they’re not dropping the issue anytime soon.

Figuring it might be better in a confined place where Kurt might be less inclined to make a scene, Blaine reaches around him to open the door and step inside. Kurt follows him without breaking the stare. “It might be that… you give off… the impression of… hating… everyone in there.”

“What? Why?” Kurt practically glares just as they reach the counter. He spots the barista, who seems distracted with something on the coffee machine. As if on cue, Kurt snaps his fingers.

“That would be why.” Blaine sighs, giving up on trying to keep the fight from happening and fully delving into it.

Kurt puts a hand on his hip and cocks it. He looks like the picture of everything Blaine ever thought about him at first, and it’s almost funny. “What would be why?”

Blaine snaps his own fingers right in front of Kurt's face. “Do you have any idea how rude it is to snap your fingers at wait staff, Kurt? And, while we’re at it, to not even look at people while you’re ordering, to keep you ear-buds in, and just generally behave like that person isn’t a person?”

“What I- what? I…? It’s just their job to-”

“To what? Take your order and make your coffee? Yes, it is. But not to be treated like that’s the only reason they exist. Snapping your fingers is not gonna make it happen any faster, it’s just gonna make you look like a snob.” Blaine’s surprised to find that Kurt’s looking more horrified than angry. “Kurt, it’s not just Sam… the whole staff at the campus café think you’re a stuck up idiot. I knew who you were way before I ever knew _you_ , because Sam had mentioned you before. A few times actu-.” Realizing he’s thrown one too many punches, Blaine shuts up and watches as Kurt takes it in.

The barista that has walked over in the meantime is looking at them like it’s the most interesting thing she’s seen all day, and it probably is. Blaine gives her a tight, embarrassed smile, which she returns in full wattage, and orders for both of them, miraculously remembering Sam’s jab from Sunday.

When he looks back to Kurt he finds him looking completely lost and feebly sitting himself down on a chair. He waits for the coffees before he joins him, hoping to achieve some sort of tentative peace with a smile.

“I’m not a snob.” Kurt mumbles, when Blaine hands him his coffee. “I’m _not_. My dad’s a mechanic, and I worked shifts there since I was eight years old to be able to afford my clothes and everything. I’m not a snob.”

“Okay.” Blaine offers calmly. “I’m not saying you are, but it is how you come across in situations like this.”

“I just…” Kurt starts but stops and searches for better words. “I just think that it’s their job to pay attention to when a customer walks in to place an order, and to deliver it in a timely fashion, and to not overheat my coffee, or to not get it wrong, or… you know, it’s their job. They’re being paid for it…”

“Barely…” Blaine mutters, but that’s beside the point so he presses on, “Of course it’s their job, but how would you feel if someone did that to you or your dad? It’s just common courtesy, Kurt. Look, you’re not the worst costumer ever, I assure you. I’ve heard far worse tales from Sam, you wouldn’t even place for top ten.”

“Then why did he feel the need to comment on me to you?”

“Because you’re there every day. The truly horrific stories usually don’t come back. I mean, trust me, it’s better to be known as Mr. Fingers McSnappy than Lady Voldemort, or Jabba the Hut.”

“I’m Mr. Fingers McSnappy?” Kurt gasps and Blaine has to laugh at the complete horror on his features.

He smiles as comfortingly as he can, “Afraid so…”

“Oh my god…” Kurt melts onto the table, head buried in his arms. “I knew I was way too into Downton Abbey… I knew it. Fuck you, Lady Mary.”

A bark of laughter escapes Blaine before he manages to clamp his mouth shut, and Kurt looks up, looking so desperately sad that it only makes Blaine laugh a little more. “Come on, let’s just get the suit done, so you don’t have to be cursed with my presence for longer than necessary.”

Kurt whines but grabs his own drink and stands to follow Blaine. They walk another five minutes in silence and this time Blaine can’t get over the silence.

“I’m sorry I made you rethink your lifestyle.”

“Shut up, Sandra Dee.” Kurt mutters. He doesn’t sound particularly angry, though, so Blaine takes the whole thing as huge progress in their relationship and just offers him a cheekily innocent smile. Kurt returns about a millimeter of it, and says, “Just remember you’re no altar boy either.”

“I never said I was.” Blaine manages through his chuckles.

“Well, you certainly act like it, Mr. Self McRighteous.”

After an embarrassing amount of stuttering Blaine finally manages a full word. “Seriously?”

“I’m just saying…” Kurt shrugs, his smirk fully back now that he’s found something to throw back in Blaine’s face. He reaches a building and goes for the door. “It didn’t take me long to come up with that nickname.”

“Oh…” Was this what Kurt felt like when Blaine dropped the truth bomb on him? The bottomless pit in his gut?

Well, at least now he knows why Kurt didn’t like him. It turns out, he might have preferred not knowing, after all.

He walks in, mumbling his thanks at Kurt for holding the door open, and follows him up the stairs wordlessly.

“Okay, wait… you’re not even gonna fight me on it? You’re just gonna mope about it?” Kurt asks, his keys already pushed into the door.

“Do you want me to deny it? I mean, I don’t know… Maybe I have been a jackass, too…” He shrugs, feeling more miserable by the second. “Looking back I g-OW!” Blaine clutches his cheek where Kurt’s open-handed slap had landed perfectly, and okay, maybe it wasn’t that hard, but still! Kurt slapped him. “What the…?!”

“Snap out of it!” Kurt’s voice is demanding and not at all apologetic. “We’ve just spent a whole subway ride home without fighting, and we’ve both admitted to faults, and now it’s just getting too weird. I don’t want to know why you come across like a sanctimonious prick, because I’m not interested in letting you off the hook. I am _not_ going to feel sorry for you, just because you have the kicked puppy look down to a T, okay?”

Blaine stares back at him, clutching his cheek.

“You’re still doing it.” Kurt glares.

“No…” Blaine mumbles with a sigh, eyes on the floor, and hand rubbing over the tender skin of his cheek. “This is my slapped puppy look.”

He looks up to catch Kurt’s reaction, and he seems to be having a hard time keeping himself from smiling or laughing. Instead Kurt purses his lips and turns to the door, turning the keys and opening it in haste.

Okay… so maybe it’s not that hopeless or stupid developing feelings for Kurt.

He steels himself for what might be an insane couple of hours, takes a deep breath and follows Kurt inside.

The loft is… something else. Somehow he just knows that this is all Kurt. The faded golden hues of the whole thing, all of the clutter that’s just enough to make it look full, but not enough to be overwhelming, the totally purposeful chaos of it all. Somehow, Blaine just knows this is Kurt’s place. Rachel and Santana just happen to live here for now.

Kurt has disappeared behind a dark green curtain, and Blaine follows him reluctantly. He steps into the improvised bedroom and finds Kurt fiddling with a black and maroon suit on a mannequin. It looks amazing. Sturdy, functional, tight fitting, but still stylish.

“Wow…” he smiles, reaching out to touch the fabric.

“You like it?” Kurt’s biting his lip, and really, Blaine has no idea why he would ever be nervous about this.

“Of course. It’s… it’s awesome! I’m… way too lame to be wearing something like this – this belongs on an actual superhero.”

“Thanks…” Kurt mutters. “Anyway, huh, it’s not finished yet, but you should try it on, so I can see what needs to be taken in…”

“Sure.”

“I thought I’d make the shirt a little looser, so you could wear a bullet-proof vest underneath. Although I have no idea how one even gets a bullet-proof vest, but… I think you should.”

“Um, yeah, I hadn’t… I hadn’t really thought about that.” Blaine shrugs, while he watches Kurt carefully remove the garments from the mannequin.

“Don’t rush anything.” Kurt says as he lays the top out on his bed. “The seams aren’t very strong yet, so don’t force the fabric.” He finishes laying it out and then just stands for a second, looking between Blaine and the suit, until he finally seems to realize something, and stalks out of the bedroom. “I’ll just wait here while you change,” he offers once he’s on the other side of the curtain, and Blaine bites back a chuckle.

As he strips his pants he realizes he’s wearing his idiotically pink briefs. He cringes and sighs to himself before he picks up the pants from the costume and begins the careful process of putting them on.

They’re… snug.

“Kurt?” he calls. “The pants are a little tight.”

“They’re supposed to be tight.” Kurt drawls back.

Blaine winces. It’s not that he can’t button them up, it’s just that if he does, other things might… burst open. “I know, but it’s tighter than that… I don’t…”

“That’s impossible. I already gave half an extra inch around the waist, because my measurement looked a little crazy small.”

“No,” Blaine sighs, facing the reality that he’ll actually have to show Kurt the way the fabric is straining over his thighs and ass. “It’s not the waist,” he says as he meekly steps out of the bedroom, “It’s the parts you didn’t measure…”

Kurt looks like he’s about to argue that maybe it’s Blaine who doesn’t know how to put on pants, when Blaine painstakingly turns around, and whatever angry rant was on the tip of Kurt’s tongue dies. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure if I try running in these I’ll just… rip everything open,” Blaine says, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he feels, as he turns back around, hands still carefully place in front of the open crotch. Kurt’s eyes seem to have followed the movement and his cheeks are the reddest Blaine’s ever seen them. If it was possible that would have been the moment Blaine would’ve died of shame.

“Oh…”

“So, hum… I’m just gonna…” Blaine gestures back to the bedroom and disappears as quickly as humanly possible.

He strips the pants as carefully as he can – considering it a personal victory that he only hears two stitches ripping – and immediately puts on his jeans, needing the comfort of something that fits and doesn’t make him feel like someone might burst into Baby Got Back at any given moment.

Once he’s gotten himself in check, he pulls off his own shirt and puts on the top from the costume, which much to his relief fits like a glove.

“Okay,” he sighs, “the top is perfect, though.” He smiles with a lingering twinge of nerves as he steps out.

Kurt still looks about as disturbed as Blaine feels, but they manage to power through it in silence as Kurt puts some pins here and there.

“So I should actually… measure… _that_ … this time.”

Blaine closes his eyes and nods. “Yap.”

Kurt gives him a feeble smile and walks over to the desk to get the measuring tape. He turns around with the radiant smile of someone who’s just had the brightest idea. “Or you could measure yourself!”

“I totally could!” Blaine agrees eagerly and takes the tape.

Kurt sits down on the couch primly with his sketchbook open on the final sketch and a pen waiting to jot down the numbers, as Blaine carefully wraps it around his butt and hips. Which is exactly when the door slides open to reveal Rachel and Santana.

Everyone freezes. Blaine tries to understand what this looks like from the outside, but all he can say is that he has a bedazzled bright yellow measuring tape around his ass, and Kurt is just watching him with his pen to a notebook.

“Blaine.” Rachel finally unfreezes, her smile coming a little slower than it normally does. “So nice to see you. What’s happening here?”

“Oh, I, huh… Kurt and I, we’re just… we…”

“I told you, Rach, didn’t I? I owed him a favor,” Kurt cuts in, valiantly. “And he asked me to make him a Halloween costume.”

“Yap.” Blaine nods. “Because I wanted to dress up like a superhero, but I didn’t really… like the cheap costumes and… yeah. Halloween. Of… next year, because it’s… November now… but… the earliest bird gets the worm…”

Santana eyes them like they’re insane, but she’s smirking and that’s what truly scares Blaine about her. Rachel, however, has just made the connection and is failing spectacularly at being subtle about it.

“Oh, a superhero _costume_! Oh, right! I remember now, Kurt. Of course. So you’ve decided, then, Blaine? What you want to be… for next _Halloween_?”

“Yes,” Blaine gets out through gritted teeth, and turns back to hastily completing his task, mumbling the numbers to a barely attention-paying Kurt.

“So that’s the top part, then?” Rachel asks. “What about the pants?”

“Not done yet,” Kurt mumbles, fast and low.

She glances at the notebook on Kurt’s hand, at the sketch for the full suit.

“Oh, I really like it! It looks very stylish, and very… Blaine. Simple and classic, but sophisticated, you know?” she offers with a smile and it’s enough to make Blaine relax significantly, the last few minutes almost vanishing into thin air. The praise seems to be having the same effect on Kurt who starts telling her all about the different details on it, and the four of them sit happily on the couch, going over Kurt’s creation.

“No cape?” Rachel frowns, by the end of it.

“No cape!” Both boys growl at the same time, imitating Edna Mode’s voice, and yet again, everyone freezes for a moment. Blaine breaks the spell with a chuckle. “Honestly, Rachel, have you never seen The Incredibles? Have you learned nothing from it?”

“I have not, actually. If there’s no singing involved, why would I watch it?” she says, adopting a defensive, lofty tone.

“You’re kidding, right?” Blaine glares.

“Rachel, you’ve awakened the nerd.” Kurt smirks.

Blaine puts a hand over her knee and ignores Kurt altogether. “I feel sorry for you, Rachel.”

“I have an idea!” Santana says sounding a little too dangerous for Blaine’s liking. “Why don’t you stay for dinner, and we all watch it together, so you don’t have to feel sorry for Rachel anymore? I’m going to not-so-legally obtain this film, excuse me.”

“I… huh…” Blaine glances over to Kurt, trying to discern whether he’s okay with this turn of events. They might not be at each other’s throats anymore, but he’s pretty sure Kurt’s not that fond of him yet either. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rachel beams. “Please, stay!”

So, with a nervous, apologetic smile towards Kurt, he does.


	4. Part 4: The Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs used in this chapter are The Imperial March, Confrontation Song (Les Miserables), and It Takes Two (Into The Woods) - if you want the audio cues you might want to go open those YouTube tabs :)

Kurt is confused. He has no idea how it got to this point. But Blaine is sitting on his couch, and they’re about to watch _The Incredibles_ together. Thankfully there are two girls between them, which helps diffuse the tension.

The worst part, though, is that he doesn’t really know what kind of tension it is anymore. The absolute animosity may be gone, but his shoulders are still drawn and there’s a tightness in his stomach. Kurt’s not sure he wants to delve too deeply into it. He’s always been good with denial, and this is no different.

He leans ever so slightly so he can peer at Blaine, past Rachel and Santana. He’s looking attentively at the TV screen, but there’s something about his gaze that makes Kurt suspect he’s not really paying attention.

Kurt swallows thickly and follows Blaine’s example. Somehow it’s even worse, knowing that Blaine might be having the same issues, because it just makes it a little harder to ignore. Especially when they end up quoting, flawlessly and word for word, so many of the film’s best lines. Each time it happens there’s a moment of awkward silence, and then either Rachel or Santana will say something that makes it go blessedly away.

When the credits roll, Rachel immediately suggests another film, and Kurt can literally see the intent in her eyes as she plots to make him sit next to Blaine. Thankfully, he barely needs to say a word before Blaine is shooting off the couch with his own refusal.

“Oh, no, Rachel, I couldn’t. I’ve imposed long enough and I have plans with Sam anyway.”

“Oh…” she pouts. “Are you sure? He can come, we don’t mind. We could have a little movie marathon night.”

“He works tomorrow, early.” Blaine says, not entirely convincing, but Kurt’s certainly not going to be the one questioning the veracity of that statement. “Anyway, this was fun.”

“I believe that expression usually comes accompanied with the words ‘we should do it again’!” Rachel beams.

Blaine looks like a cute hamster in a cage. No. Not a cute hamster. A rat. A common, completely unremarkable rat in a cage. “Hum, yeah, sure why not?” he says in a rush, and he starts collecting his bag and coat. “I’ll see you, guys. Bye.”

As soon as the door slides shut, Rachel is squealing. “Yes! Dear Lord, yes!”

Kurt feigns confusion, “What?”

“You don’t hate each other anymore! We can stop choosing which one of you to invite! We can all hang out together!” She’s beaming. Her eyes have a dangerous glint about them that makes Kurt very much sure that she’s editing her thoughts. “I’m gonna tell Tina!”

“Hey, hey, hold your horses. We don’t hate each other, no. But we don’t… anything else each other, either, okay?”

She smirks as she eyes him. “Sure. But you’re not gonna abstain from coming to Callbacks now just because he’s coming too, are you?”

He sighs. “No. I guess not.”

“Enough cause for celebration, I say.” She grins before she twirls away into her room.

He watches her leave, not bothering to hide his absolute terror. It’s not until she’s disappeared behind a fluttering curtain that he remembers Santana’s still there. The thought alone startles him. He jumps, grabbing his chest, and turns to find her squinting with a smirk.

“You should be,” she says.

“What?”

“Scared.” She winks pointing in Rachel’s direction before turning to the TV and flicking it on to one of her telenovelas.

He swallows in dry.

-x-

Callbacks is absolutely full to the brim when he gets there. The sound of dozens and dozens of voices trying to speak over loud music, and the smell of alcohol and fried food hit him at once. The girl on the stage is clearly singing through her heartbreak and it’s painful to watch because she’s not talented enough to make it work. She breaks on a note and Kurt winces just as he spots his own group a little up ahead. He battles his way through the thick crowd, hoping his grimace looks like a smile. Rachel is the first one to spot him and she squeals, alerting everyone else to his arrival. He waves, awkwardly smiling to the group and trying not to either blatantly stare at Blaine or blatantly ignore him.

He’s absolutely not surprised to find that the only open seat is next to Blaine. He looks around the table and finds Santana smirking and pointing at Rachel and Tina, who are conveniently distracted, talking to each other.

“Like I said, you should be.”

Kurt grimaces at her before sighing and turning to Blaine, as he sits.

“Hi.” He tries as hard as he can, not to let his anger towards Rachel and Tina show through.

Blaine gives him a meek smile and sips his drink. “Hi.”

“I, huh, think I’m practically done with the suit. You should try it on again before I put on the finishing touches.”

“Oh, okay, sure.”

“I mean, I think I got the measures right this time, but…”

“Yap.” Blaine nods. In the dim light of the bar it’s hard to tell, but he might be blushing.

“Anyway, I’m free on Monday after four if…”

“Works fine for me. Your place?”

“Hum…” Kurt glances towards Rachel, who is _almost_ succeeding at pretending she’s not watching their conversation. “Would you mind terribly if we went to yours?”

Blaine’s eyes follow Kurt’s line of vision for a second. His cheeks darken. “No, that’s fine.”

Silence falls between them for long, painful moments, until someone pulls each of them into different conversations and Kurt can finally breathe again.

The night goes on without any other incident. When Blaine takes the stage at some point, Kurt manages to rearrange the seats so that he gets to be between Rachel and Mike. He knows Blaine will be as relieved as himself upon his return.

And when Blaine starts singing Kurt knows it’s time to start the shots.

-x-

The door doesn’t open until what feels like five minutes after he knocked. Blaine looks a little breathless, poking his head out, hair wet and curly, as he keeps the door as closed as possible. “Hi!” he gasps. “Kurt. You’re… early.”

Kurt frowns. “I am?” He checks his watch. “It’s four. We said four, right?”

“We said _after_ four.” Blaine cringes, “I assumed,… I- nevermind. Hm. Come in.” He opens the door the rest of the way, and before Kurt can register that Blaine’s shirtless with jeans hastily pulled on and water drenching the waistline, he’s jogging away. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be a couple of minutes.”

Kurt must stand frozen on the doorway for half of the time that it takes Blaine to come back, fully dry and clothed. Luckily he did manage to force himself to walk to the couch.

Blaine quickly runs his hands over his damp hair and smiles shyly as he emerges from his bedroom. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles. His eyes flicker up, over Kurt’s face and he frowns slightly. As Blaine walks past Kurt, he looks to see what distracted Blaine and finds that the front door is still wide open.

Kurt definitely needs a new brain, if it can’t handle sitting down _and_ closing the god damned front door. He suppresses a groan as he watches Blaine doing it, and distracts himself by pulling the suit pieces from his bag.

“Might as well just have stayed naked, huh?” Kurt quips before he can register the words.

Blaine looks at him like he’s grown two heads – not without reason, to be fair. “Right,” he smiles politely. “Shall I?” he gestures towards the pieces.

Kurt nods, trying not to grimace and feeling his cheeks on fire.

“I’ll be right back.” Blaine mumbles and practically flees the scene.

Kurt picks up a pillow and tries to suffocate himself with it.

Blaine takes enough time that Kurt does manage to get himself somewhat in check. His cheeks feel mostly back to normal when the bedroom door opens and Blaine comes out fully clothed. A vision in black and burgundy. A normal vision, though. Not like… not like when someone is describing princesses in beautiful gowns and says, “she’s a vision in blue”, but like… just a vision. Like any other.

“Oh, huh, it looks fine. Does it… feel okay?”

Blaine takes a deep breath and moves his arms around a little. “I think so…” He smiles, and keeps moving. With every second, his smile grows more and more. “Yeah, it’s perfect. It feels perfect.” He grins and twirls for Kurt, who avoids checking if the failed measures look better now.

“Good!” Kurt claps his hands to his legs, and keeps himself from smiling too much. “That’s good.”

“Thank you!” Blaine scratches the back of his neck as he directs his smile to Kurt’s feet. “This is amazing!” He presses two hands to his flushed cheeks as he glances up. He looks positively adorable.

No. Nope. No. No.

“Of course.” Kurt shrugs, hoping he looks calm and collected in a way he most definitely doesn’t feel. “It’s not finished yet, I still have to…”

“I have no idea how you can possibly make it better, but sure. I’ll go take it off now.” Blaine looks giddy enough to explode as he turns to his bedroom, and Kurt has a hard time not asking him to stay and look like that forever.

Ai. Ai. Ai.

Just as Kurt manages to look away Blaine turns back. “Wait, I wanna show you something!”

“Okay.”

“Hold something!” Blaine grins.

Kurt frowns but follows the instruction, grabbing the pillow that was supposed to have put him out of his misery earlier.

Blaine’s smile fades a little as he squints and concentrates. At first Kurt thinks Blaine must be mistaken but suddenly the pillow is scorching hot in his hands. He drops it with a yelp and Blaine laughs, delighted.

“I thought you could blow stuff up, and –“

“Yeah, but they’re blowing up because I heat them up too much, too fast. I used to think I had two different powers, the explosion and heating up the things I’m touching, but it’s all the same thing. I’m not sure, because I’m not a physics engineer or, you know… anything like that, but I think what I can do is accelerate particles, literally like a microwave, and I can do it to the point of explosions with electronic stuff, or melting, or burning with anything else. And it was just always easier to control it and keep it gradual and slow when I was touching the object, but I think I got the hang of it now, that I can do it to the exact temperature I want, at the speed I want, without having to touch anything…”

“Wow…” Kurt gasps.

“Yeah…” Blaine sighs, still beaming, still flushed with excitement. “It’s insane, but it’s… it’s happening.”

“This is definitely the weirdest thing that’s ever happened in my life.” Kurt nods. “I mean, your life. But, I… you know what I mean….”

Blaine nods with an understanding smile. “I think it also doesn’t help that it’s nothing like the comic books made it seem. I don’t have a cool origin story, I’m literally just a random guy whose best redeeming quality to his super-heroism is that I used to practice boxing. I mean, I’m not a conveniently gifted science student that can figure out what happened to him, let alone one that can build his own gadgets to compliment his powers…”

“True…” Kurt says, and then points at the Star Wars poster and the bookshelf filled with comic book and DVD’s of films based on those comic books. “But I do bet the geek in you is excited, at the very least.”

“Well… Maybe…” Blaine shrugs with a shy smile. “But nothing to the levels of Sam. He’s taken upon himself to be my Yoda, on the premise that he’s read twice as many comic books…” he chuckles and sits down on the couch next to Kurt.

“Oh, so you’re not equal levels of geekdom, then?”

Blaine laughs at that. “Not really. At least not in the same ways. I’m more of a hybrid, because I’m a dork about most things, to be honest… comic books, musicals, fashion… ”

“I got that, with the musical posters in your bedroom, and the preppy look, and… well, it always confused and scared me a little about you.” He hopes Blaine catches up on his joking, and doesn’t actually take it seriously.

“What? Why?” Blaine frowns, still laughing. “You do know people are allowed to like different things at the same time…?” His tone is teasing, but good-natured, so Kurt finds himself returning it.

“It’s just that I think it’s dangerous.” He shrugs, not quite managing to keep his smile away.

Blaine quirks an eyebrow. “How so?”

“It leads to people thinking it’s a good idea to make a Broadway Musical about Spiderman.”

“You mean it’s _not_ a good idea to make a Broadway Musical about Spiderman?!” Blaine pretends to be shocked at the implication, but Kurt can tell he’s holding back his amusement.

“Don’t even try to joke about it.” Kurt warns him, very, very sternly.

Blaine laughs. “Well, I still think a musical version of Star Wars is in order, and if no one else will do it, I will.”

“I will go back to hating you if you bring that monstrosity upon this Earth.” Kurt glares.

“So you _don’t_ hate me anymore?” Blaine grins, and he’s too charming for his own good.

Kurt avoids any reaction other than keeping his glare. “The jury’s still out deliberating. You sure you want to play with your chances?”

Blaine observes him for a moment, still smirking before he opens his mouth and belts, at the top of his lungs and in a tone deeper than Kurt’s ever heard him go, “ _Luuuuuuuuuuuke! I aaam yooour faaaaaaatheeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!_ ”

Kurt is speechless.

“Are you seriously telling that wouldn’t be amazing?”

“I am telling you that if you do that, I will personally explode a fridge on me so I can be powerful enough to fight your super villainous ways and rid this world of your madness.” Kurt smirks.

“Super heroic ways, you mean. Giving the world the awesomeness it deserves.” He gasps with what looks like an epiphany. “I should call it – The Musical, Star Wars.”

Kurt stares at him blankly.

Blaine smile slips a little and he frowns. “Instead of Star Wars, the Musical…? Because of Yoda? Get it?”

“Nope.”

Blaine cocks his head to the side and stares at Kurt piercingly. “Tell me something. And don’t lie.”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever seen Star Wars? _Any_ of the films…”

Kurt stays silent for as long as he can. Blaine’s smile is growing for every second that ticks by without an answer. When it gets to obnoxious levels he forces himself to say, “No.”

Without warning there’s a pillow to his face and loud laughter. “You’re such a jackass! Why would you hate it if you’ve never even seen it!?”

“I never said I hated Star Wars,” he says, holding his chin high and not giving Blaine the satisfaction of faltering. “I only think that comic books and sci-fi and that sort of stuff is best not mixed with musicals. Because… musicals are… about beauty and romanticism, and emotions, and…”

“And there’s no beauty, or romanticism, or emotion in a saga about the fight for the galaxy’s _freedom_ and, ultimately, its very survival?” Blaine still looks mostly amused, and it sort of annoys Kurt how he can remain so calm in dispute like this.

“ _Please_.” Kurt scoffs.

Blaine laughs. “Okay. I will admit this. The films are mostly funny in their lack of… overall quality. And that might be why I like them so much.” He scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “But the comic books are good, and there _is_ epicness in it, I do think it’s… it’s worth exploring the idea.”

“You’ve just admitted that the films are bad.” Kurt deadpans.

“Nooo!” Blaine lets out a whiny chuckle. “That’s not it at all… I.. You have to see them to get what I’m saying, I can’t explain it.”

“I am not watching six films that you’ve just described as lacking in overall quality to the point of being funny,” Kurt sneers. “I have so many better things to do with my time I wouldn’t even know where to start. Like waste an entire day reading the phonebook. I would sooner do that.”

“That’s such a lie,” Blaine accuses with a laugh, hitting him with the pillow again.

“I would sooner go outside in my pajamas for a full day, than watch those films.”

Blaine gives him a fake glare and rolls his eyes. “I bet they’re stylish pajamas, though, so those are shit stakes.”

Kurt chuckles. “Alright, I would sooner not wear my brand new gorgeous McQueen jacket for a full two years.” He checks to see if Blaine has any other comment, before he continues. “I would sooner eat a half eaten piece of cheesecake that had been left over on a restaurant table, even if I had no idea who’d eaten the other part or how long it’d been there.”

“Wouldn’t we all…?” Blaine muses.

“I would sooner willingly touch a piece of chewing gum stuck to the underside of a high school table, than watch those films.” That gets a full belly laugh out of Blaine. “I would sooner watch a Spiderman, The Musical bootleg six times in a row, than watch those films.”

“Now, that’s just silly.” Blaine turns fully towards Kurt, arm on the back of the couch and head propped nonchalantly against his hand, as he pierces Kurt with his gaze. “How could that possibly be less horrible than watching six different and very humorous films?”

Kurt smirks, meeting Blaine’s eye with a daring squint. “Never, ever underestimate my determination to be right.”

“You’re very stubborn.” Blaine nods, squinting back. “Duly noted.”

“Not stubborn,” Kurt says. “Determined.”

“Right.” Blaine smiles, and Kurt is suddenly aware of how long they’ve been holding each other’s gaze.

He looks away.

“So if you don’t like comic books or anything of the sort…?”

“I make no _real_ judgment of those who do, I promise, but no, I don’t…”

“Then why _The Incredibles_?”

“Edna.” Kurt grins. “And Violet. And… it _was_ good. Also, back when I was a kid, it was one of the few movies my dad and I both enjoyed. He didn’t like all the singing in the other movies.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, it’s not… it’s not a defining movie in my life… There are plenty others that I would choose before that one, but… you know, I still love it. And it always felt a little nicer when both of us were enjoying it, rather than when I could feel he was watching it for my sake alone.” He glances back to find Blaine watching him with a smile.

“That’s nice… That he would watch films with you… even the ones he didn’t like.”

He finds himself without much of a reply, so he returns the smile and looks away. His writhing hands are much more interesting than warm, compelling eyes anyway…

“So, huh, do you-”

Blaine’s hesitant voice is swiftly interrupted by the front door bursting open.

“Bubble butts!” Sam’s voice rings loud as soon as he steps in. “You’re looking at the- Oh! Hi, Kurt.” He looks at Kurt as if he’s the last thing he’d expected to see in that living room.

Kurt would feel entirely self-conscious about how fast his face was to conjure up all the blood in his body and positively burn up, if a quick glance at Blaine hadn’t been enough to determine the same happened to him.

“Hi, Sam.” Kurt mumbles, “I was just… Blaine’s suit.”

“Right!” Blaine gasps, as if he’d honestly forgotten why Kurt had come in the first place. He jumps up and twirls. “Kurt came over for my last fitting before he finishes it up. What do you think?”

Sam is speechless for a moment, before a wide grin spreads over his features. “I think you totally stole my awesome news thunder, dude! That’s so awesome!”

He inspects the suit closely, marveling at the details under his breath and turning towards both of them with “Awesome!” every couple of seconds.

“What about the face, though?” Sam frowns, walking back so he can observe the whole effect from a distance. “Shouldn’t you cover your face? Or at least part of it…”

“Right!” Kurt agrees at once, “I – I’ll make you a mask for the top half. That’s – you should definitely mask your eyes and your eyebrows – they’re very, huh, distinctive. I recognized you right way because of that, you know, because of the… how they’re… huh, you know, special – I mean, different. Particular. The- I mean, the eyebrows. And the- yeah. Mask.”

The two of them stare at Kurt. They look worried. He probably looks like he’s having an aneurism or something. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Yeah, that’s probably best.” Blaine nods with a hint of a smile. Sam is outright keeping himself from laughing. “Well, I better go change so Kurt can get on with his day,” He walks to his bedroom but keeps the door ajar. “But do tell, what about your slightly less awesome news?”

“I got a modeling gig!” Sam grins.

“You’re a model?” Kurt asks.

“Helps pay the tuition.” Sam explains dismissively, before announcing. “You are looking at the face of Bubble Butt! Look!” he throws of piece of something at Kurt, who holds it up. It’s a pair of padded briefs. Blaine sticks his head out of the bedroom to look as well, and frowns. “Now every guy can have that dream bubble butt, and look good in any pair of jeans.”

“I had no idea there was a market for that…” Blaine chuckles before going back in.

“Of course you wouldn’t…” Kurt mumbles before he manages to shut up and not complete the thought with _taking your own for granted_.

Sam glances suspiciously but doesn’t push, thankfully. “Yeah, dude, it’s getting big, and I’m totes gonna be the face of the male butt revolution. Bringing self-esteem to every scrawny dude in the nation!”

“Now that’s a superhero, if you ask me.” Blaine’s voice sounds strained with laughter. “I am so proud of you!”

“Congratulations.” Kurt tells him, as genuinely as he can.

Sam drops on the couch, beaming.

-x-

Kurt sits on his bed staring at the final and complete version of Blaine’s suit. Every stitch perfect. Absolutely stunning. And absolutely the end of Kurt’s visits to Blaine’s apartment.

Without allowing himself to stop and think about it Kurt grabs his phone.

_From Kurt: Ooops. I made a terrible mistake on your suit. And I’m kind of swamped with schoolwork so I’m not sure how fast I’ll be able to get it fixed and finished. I’m sorry, it’s not gonna be ready tomorrow, after all._

Blaine answers fast enough that Kurt doesn’t have time to freak out about his idiotic idea and undo it all.

**From Blaine: No worries. The black clothes and the ski mask work just as well as they have for the last month. But does this mean you’re not coming over tomorrow?**

Well, clearly Kurt hadn’t thought it through. In any way whatsoever. Not only did he lie in an attempt to buy himself more time with Blaine (when did that happen??), but he did it so poorly he just lost the one thing he’d been secretly (subconsciously) looking forward to, all week. Idiot.

_From Kurt: I guess not… There’s no point. I won’t be able to finish it until then, and I have loads to study. I’ve procrastinated long enough…_

**From Blaine: I know the feeling. It helps me to have study buddies, you know? Keep each other in line. Do you have someone to study with you?**

Well, he has Rachel, or even Santana… But really, they’re even worse than he is. They would totally enable Kurt’s procrastination. Totally.

_From Kurt: The girls are impossible to study with. I was thinking of going to the library. I suppose spacing out there is still better than spacing out here._

**From Blaine: I’ll go with you, if you want. I could use the company and the study time.**

Kurt should not be grinning at his phone.

_From Kurt: Just try to reign in the self-righteousness when you’re calling me out for being distracted. 2pm at the lobby?_

**From Blaine: Mean. Ok.**

Blaine takes to throwing little balls of paper at Kurt every time he catches him spacing out, and Kurt pokes Blaine’s cheek with a pen whenever he seems to be dozing off. At the end of it all Blaine grabs his phone, tapping at it with a sly smile. Kurt’s pings and he looks to find a Facebook friends request.

“And _that’s_ how you present a truce offer in the age of social media.” Blaine teases.

Kurt clicks accept. “Just make sure it’s off anyone’s feed. We don’t want Rachel and Tina getting ideas…”

Blaine nods, smirks and winks at him.

It works out very well. It makes Kurt glad that he lied, but it also makes him wonder if he ever needed to.

A week later, right before they all leave for Thanksgiving, he hands Blaine the finished product and accepts the reality that he’ll have to find new reasons to hang out with him.

-x-

**From Blaine: Guess who just found a Spiderman, The Musical bootleg that you can watch six times in a row?**

_From Kurt: You didn’t._

**From Blaine: I did.**

_From Kurt: But you didn’t._

**From Blaine: But I did.**

_From Kurt: No, you didn’t._

**From Blaine: Yes, I did.**

_From Kurt: This isn’t getting us anywhere._

**From Blaine: This is getting us on my couch this Saturday, so you can show me just how “determined” you are. (you’re back from Ohio by Saturday, right?)**

_From Kurt: … (yes)_

**From Blaine: Unless you wanna just watch Star Wars. That’s cool too.**

_From Kurt: What time should I be there?_

**From Blaine: :D**

**From Blaine: I’ll calculate it and let you know.**

_From Kurt: You do realize you’re subjecting yourself to more than six hours of something_ _horrible just to spite me?_

**From Blaine: Life is wonderful like that. :D**

-x-

They don’t actually watch it six times in a row, otherwise Kurt would have lost his sanity, for sure.

The first watch is riddled with disbelieving laughter and a lot of “what the fuck!”s. The second watch comes with anticipation for their favorite worst parts and even louder laughter. The third includes accompanying the best bad lines in the play, and managing to survive through the boring parts with a few well thought out and well timed jokes. The fourth sees the demise of enjoying it ironically and the start of pure pain.

Halfway through it Blaine announces he never actually said he could do it and that he’ll be in the kitchen preparing dinner, if Kurt needs anything.

Kurt waits ten minutes before he puts on his earbuds, selects a relaxing playlist on his iPod and pulls out a magazine.

He’s gotten through two articles when the magazine is ripped out of his hands, and Blaine merely points to the stacked Star Wars DVD’s on his coffee table with a sickly sweet smile. Kurt glares but yanks out the earbuds and gets back to paying some sort of attention to some guy prancing around in a Spiderman costume and a harness.

In the end, it’s Rachel who saves him.

Kurt is begrudgingly starting the fifth watch when his phone rings.

She doesn’t need to say much before he knows what happened, and feels justified enough to abandon his task. “See you soon, honey. Chin up,” he tells her.

Kurt looks up just in time to watch Blaine emerge from the kitchen, leaning on the doorway with a curious expression.

“Rachel got stood up.” He says, as he pockets his phone.

“Oh no…” Blaine gasps, looking genuinely sad at the news.

“She requests my presence at the loft, with cake, ice-cream and alcohol…” Kurt winces and Blaine nods at once, turning back toward the kitchen.

“What about a delicious pasta dish, would she want that?” He asks, over his shoulder. “I’ve been preparing this for almost an hour, I wouldn’t really enjoy eating it alone, you might as well take it for you guys, and I’ll heat up some leftovers.”

“Blaine…” Kurt starts in a warning tone, following him into the kitchen.

“Sam’s not coming home tonight, and I want Rachel’s night to turn around.” Blaine is already dumping the admittedly delicious smelling pasta into a plastic container. “But I’ll keep some for me, if it makes you happier. Oh, and your ice-cream is still in the freezer, if you don’t wanna stop to buy some.” He adds with a chuckle.

Kurt barely manages to hold his laughter, as he rolls his eyes and goes to get the ice-cream. “You wouldn’t have any alcoholic beverage that I could…?” he starts jokingly and stops when he notices that Blaine is actually opening a cupboard door filled with a couple of half-full bottles of vodka, rum, gin, and some wine. “That was a joke.”

“Oh, hum, okay.” Blaine shrugs. “But we don’t actually like vodka. You can have it. This isn’t ours, technically. Someone brought it over for our housewarming party and it’s been here ever since… I’m just trying to save you the trip to the grocery shop.”

“That’s.. yeah, I’ll take it, thanks.”

Blaine grins and grabs the bottle.

At the front door, with his bag absolutely stuffed to the brim with things for Rachel, Kurt finds himself turning back towards Blaine, who is holding the door open with an amiable smile.

“Today was fun…” Blaine says when Kurt seems to come up empty. “But now we’ll never know if you’d actually make good on your word…”

“Oh, I would.” Kurt scoffs, and it makes Blaine smile wider.

“I would ask for a take two, but _I_ don’t ever want to watch that show again.”

“Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it, then, that I would’ve made it to the end of the sixth. Just trust me and spare yourself the grief.”

“Okay, then.” Blaine nods. “I will.”

“That’s how I get you to trust me, huh? Just so you don’t have to sit on a couch for hours on end with me, suffering through that?”

Blaine chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. “Sure.” He says it like there’s something funny and untrue about it and even though Kurt can’t be sure of what Blaine actually means, it still makes him feel happy, and in need of stepping closer. He catches himself just in time.

“Well!” he says with such decisiveness that it startles them both, “I should go, or the ice-cream will melt.”

“Yeah. Um, tell Rachel I said hi. And that the guy wishes he could be worthy of her.”

Kurt chuckles at that and nods. With a wave, he’s off.

It’s not until he’s in the subway that he realizes he will have to admit to having spent his entire afternoon with Blaine. He has half a mind to throw all the food out and buy new, easier to explain comfort food, but even Kurt’s pride has its limits.

He will face the questions and the assumptions and everything that will come his way (serves him right for lying about his plans in the first place), taking the tiniest bit of solace in the knowledge that it’ll make Rachel forget the whole stood-up thing if she has something else to obsess over.

But there’s something else digging into his guilt, and he’s almost afraid to even acknowledge it. Despite Kurt’s best efforts towards denial, though, it finally breaks the surface of consciousness as he’s opening the door to the loft. A few good (amazing) afternoons spent together, admittedly insane and endless streams of texts and messenger chats, and Blaine wouldn’t need to do much more than snap his fingers for Kurt to think of him as his best friend, right now. Or at least, as the person he wants to be his best friend.

“I’m so sorry, Rachel!” Kurt tells her as soon as he sees her, and he means it in more ways than one.

And who are we kidding, anyway? At this point, Blaine could be way more than Kurt’s best friend just by saying the word. Kurt has surrendered, and there’s nowhere else to go but forward. Into feelings.

-x-

_From Kurt: Guess what I found myself singing in the shower this morning?_

**From Blaine: I’m a gentleman, Kurt, but you make it hard to resist the plethora of jokes I could’ve used just now.**

_From Kurt: Thank you. I was singing the green guy’s song from the spiderman musical! I’ve never been more horrified at myself. I was halfway through the first chorus when I realized. I must find a way to erase my memory!_

**From Blaine: I feel for you. I truly do.**

_From Kurt: You did this! It’s been more than a week and it’s still engraved in my brain!_

**From Blaine: I did not! You chose your fate. All you had to do, if you didn’t want to watch it six times (which you didn’t, btw) was watch the six greatest sci-fi movies instead and then you’d only have to worry about humming The Imperial March in the shower. Which I think would be epic as well as epically funny.**

_From Kurt: I don’t like you, Blaine Anderson._

**From Blaine: Sure. Are you still coming over tomorrow to help?**

_From Kurt: Like I could trust you to get Tina’s birthday cake perfect on your own._

**From Blaine: (Forwarded from Rachel) Bailne, your pasta was delicious ssss! Thank you! We aet it all so fast I miss it already!!! Kurt was roling aroun the floor hugging his belly cuz he loved it so much!!!! You shoud alwys cook forus!! We also liked teh vodka**

**From Blaine: Don’t bother trying to come up with a witty retort to that, you’ll waste your whole day. However, I will never, ever mention it again, IF you let me choose the playlist. (I’m batting my eyelashes at you)**

_From Kurt: (I’m sighing very deeply) deal._

-x-

Kurt hurries his way to the campus café. He despises his Professor for keeping them late. It’s Friday and he wants his weekend to start as soon as possible. Which is not fifteen minutes after it was supposed to have started. Especially not when the campus seems to be full of people taking leisurely strolls whilst clogging up the damn corridors and streets, and he just wants people to move faster.

Okay, so he might be overreacting, but he dislikes being late. And he’d said he’d meet Blaine at 3pm, and it’s now almost twenty past.

He pauses before he pushes the café door open. He can see Blaine sitting at one of the corner tables tapping away at his phone, and at least he doesn’t seem annoyed at Kurt’s tardiness. That’s good.

He goes inside and the sound makes Blaine look up. He smiles as he recognizes Kurt and starts putting his things away. Kurt signals that he’ll get a coffee to go and Blaine nods, before continuing to gather his things.

At the counter Kurt manages to conjure up a smile to the girl whose name Kurt is very close to memorizing – Ana, Andrea, or Andy – and asks her for his grande non-fat mocha. She smiles back as she rings it up. Once it’s paid for he goes to the end of the counter to wait for his drink.

“Heya, I was afraid you’d bailed on me,” Blaine says as way of greeting.

“My professor kept us late, and I was saving my phone’s dying breath of battery to text you in case I got here and you’d left.”

Blaine smiles, “At 3pm? I keep telling you, you need to stop charging it every night! It ruins the battery, it drains quicker.”

“Well, I did, didn’t I? I didn’t charge it last night, and now my phone’ll be dead in an hour…”

Blaine snorts. “You can use mine if you get that bored.”

“Thanks. I’ll live.” Kurt rolls his eyes and checks to see if his drink is anywhere close to done. Almost. He turns back to Blaine, ready to change the conversation when he notices something, “You have something – wait, is that a bruise?!”

Before Blaine can say anything, Kurt grabs him by the chin and turns the side of the face Blaine had conveniently been keeping away from Kurt. There’s a deep purple bruise on the left side of Blaine’s jaw, right at the curve below the ear.

“It’s nothing…” Blaine yanks his face away, with a meaningful glare. “I _fell_.”

“You did not-” Kurt cuts himself off, because Blaine does have a point. This is not the time or place to discuss Blaine getting hurt while superheroing around town.

“Hero you go!” A chirpy voice interrupts their glare-off.

Kurt grabs his coffee with a muttered, “Thanks.” And goes back to glaring at Blaine.

“Let’s go.” Blaine smiles, speeding off.

Kurt watches him go for a moment. With a sigh he starts to follow.

He wishes he’d followed sooner, though, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve given anything not to have overheard the baristas.

“I hope they’re not breaking up. That guy’s been much nicer since he started dating Blaine…”

He refrains from shooting her a dirty glare and goes outside. “Blaine! Wait up!”

Blaine halts and waits for Kurt to catch up, and there’s an edge of attitude in his movements that has Kurt wanting to slap the back of his head. “You did not fall.”

“Technically I did.” Blaine shrugs, “Right after I got punched.”

“You got-“

“Come on, Kurt. It’s not a big deal.” Blaine rolls his eyes. “You had to know I’d get a couple of punches every once in a while, right? It’s fine. I tried an approach sans powers, like I usually do, and he was a better boxer than me. So I did my classic move and got out of there.”

“Blaine, that is a big deal, what if-”

“It’s cute that you’re worried, though.” Blaine grins, eyes glinting with mischief.

Kurt knows exactly what Blaine’s doing, playing into his inability to admit he’s honest to god friends with Blaine, let alone that he truly, deeply cares what happens on the nights he’s crazy enough to be out and about looking for trouble, and using that inability to get himself out of the argument. But he can’t help it.

“Fine. Get your nose broken and your teeth knocked out. Lose the good looks and the charm. See if you’re funny then.”

“You think I’m good looking and charming?” Blaine grins.

Kurt takes a deep breath, wills his blood to stay where it is and clears his throat. “So, are we going shopping for the ingredients here, or is there a grocery shop close to your apartment you prefer?”

Blaine is still looking much too smug and cheerful when he shrugs. “It’s fine either way. But I think this one’s cheaper.”

Going shopping with Blaine must be practice for parenting a kid with ADHD, but they get through it somehow and soon enough they’re dumping a couple of bags filled with ingredients for Tina’s birthday cake on Blaine’s kitchen counter. Kurt starts unloading his bags and displaying everything neatly at once.

“I am going to put on my carefully curated playlist,” Blaine announces happily.

Honestly, if there wasn’t a purple shiner to prove it, no one would have believed Blaine had stayed up most of the previous night keeping the city a little safer and getting hurt in the process. If his secret identity ever gets revealed, Kurt’s pretty sure everyone in Blaine’s life will go to their graves swearing that’s impossible.

His thought process is interrupted by powerful, strong, energized orchestra music. Blaine’s opening for the playlist is the fucking Imperial March.

Kurt throws a bar of chocolate out the door and tries to look angry.

“Oi!” Blaine laughs, coming back into the kitchen. “No need for violence!”

“I truly, deeply dislike you, Blaine Anderson.” Kurt glares.

Blaine doesn’t reply. Instead, grinning as hard as ever, he closes his eyes and pretends to be the conductor the orchestra, grabbing a wooden spoon to serve as a baton. “Don’t worry, it’s just the first one…” He winks during a slow part, and goes right back into it.

The barista’s voice comes back to Kurt. And yeah, he kind of hopes they’re not breaking up either.

And yes, he’s fully aware that for that to happen they would have to be dating in the first place, but if something as nonsensical as Kurt being in Blaine’s kitchen watching him be a complete dork the night after he got punched being a superhero can happen, then anything else is possible.

-

_From Kurt: Maria is a bitch._

**From Blaine: So you’re having fun in rehearsal then, good to hear.**

_From Kurt: She’s a talentless bitch. I mean, I get it we’re not premiering till January, but we’ve been rehearsing for enough time that she should know her lines by now._

**From Blaine: You’re supposed to be in love with her, Kurt. Make an effort. Like you do with me! I almost believe you kind of like me, nowadays. You’re very good at it!**

_From Kurt: shut up and tell me you’re free tonight to watch ANTM, project runway, real housewives, and all the trashy TV we can stand and be bitchy with me…? The girls are having a girl’s night out._

**From Blaine: I guess I can rearrange my studying plans, if you really need it. Just remember, no punching my arm when you get frustrated at Tyra drawing out the decision.**

_From Kurt: First of all, how was I supposed to know your arm was bruised like that if you were wearing long sleeves and didn’t mention it? Second of all, I didn’t do it on purpose. Third of all, you’re the one going around town getting yourself beat up like purple is the color this season (it’s not), despite my continuous and consistent advice otherwise. Fourth of all, Tyra was being super annoying!_

**From Blaine: I didn’t mention it because I’m not actually fond of you acting like my mother every time I so much as stub my toe, thank you very much. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you punched me super hard. Like, super hard. You bruised me, on top of my bruise. Seriously, get in touch with your super strength, Hulk.**

_From Kurt: Do not compare me to that green horrendous thing! (rehearsal ends in an hour, just so you know. Meet me outside?)_

**From Blaine: I’m sorry, you’re right. The green horrendous thing actually apologizes when it hurts people instead of blaming Tyra for making them too annoyed. At least this time you admit you did it, though. And spared my nose. (yes, I’ll stop by the store and get some snacks)**

_From Kurt: What are you talking about?_

**From Blaine: That time you slammed a door in face, very nearly breaking my nose, and resumed to read pamphlets instead of apologizing.**

_From Kurt: what????? that didn’t happen! When did that happen? I never slammed a door in your face._

**From Blaine: Okay, you didn’t actually slam it on purpose but I had both my hands busy and I asked you to hold the door and you just let it shut, very heavily and very forcefully on my face. And then when I managed to make sure my nose wasn’t broken, and got inside you barely even looked up form the stupid pamphlets you were reading. You don’t remember? The first day we ever met. Right before the dreadful yoga class…? You even called me “domestic abuse victim” because I had a horrible bruise for a week?**

_From Kurt: That’s not true. (the first part. Not the calling you domestic abuse victim, I remember that. I was channeling Santana)_

**From Blaine: It’s very true.**

_From Kurt: I would remember if that was true._

**From Blaine: I would too. And I do. Because it is true. I just wanted an apology, and you gave me the dirtiest look in the history of dirty looks.**

_From Kurt: No! You’re lying. None of that ever happened. I would remember if I had purposefully not held the door for someone and it had hit them in the face. I know I’m supposed to be the horrible person in this friendship, but I can assure you, I hold doors when I’m asked to._

**From Blaine: wait. You mean to tell me you had no idea your unheld door nearly broke my nose?**

_From Kurt: NO! What door??_

**From Blaine: That’s impossible! How can you not know that? How loud do you listen to your music???? I practically yelled for you to hold it! The front door to the gymn!**

_From Kurt: It has to be possible, because I’m telling you the truth. Too loud, clearly…_

**From Blaine: Holy shit. So you really didn’t know you nearly broke my nose?**

_From Kurt: No._

**From Blaine: Wait. So if you didn’t know all of that, then what was your explanation for my hatred of you?**

_From Kurt: Wasn’t that the million dollar question?? I just didn’t know, at first. That’s why I was so upset! I had no idea why you were treating me like that, and then we talked at that café and I thought it was because Sam didn’t like me or something and because I was rude to waiters, and it was still kind of annoying and high-mighty of you but it made ***some*** sense. But at first I was just very, very confused and infuriated by you, and the way you constantly acted like I had something to apologize for. …. Which I did, apparently…. Holy fuck. This changes everything…_

**From Blaine: Ahahahahahahahaahahahahaha**

_From Kurt: HOWEVER, why should I apologize for something that I not only did not do on purpose, but also did not know I was supposed to have done it the first place? You can’t just go around thinking people wearing headphones are gonna hear you. Always assume you’ll have to open your own doors, Blaine. When you think about it, I taught you a valuable life lesson. You’re welcome._

**From Blaine: I hope that’s a joke. I’m outside. Hurry up!**

-

“I can’t believe this is our last night out before Christmas…! Until after next year!” Tina pouts. “I’m going to miss you guys so much!”

Kurt tries not to show how much the thought actually makes him sad. It’s late December, and Callbacks is as packed as ever, with groups of students celebrating the end of finals, and anticipating going home for the holidays. Kurt can’t wait to see his family, but he also knows that he has exactly three days to get his shit together; otherwise, he’ll have to wait until January. And while he’s scared shitless every time he thinks about telling Blaine how he feels (and even more of telling the rest of their friends), he’s not sure how much longer he can stand without taking that step.

Since Tina’s birthday last week, where they spent the entire night exchanging glances and muttering jabs and jokes into each other’s ears whenever they passed one another, he’s been hoping that maybe Blaine will make his own move, and Kurt would be spared having to put himself on the line like that. He knows it’s selfish to think like that, to hope that Blaine will do all the work, but it’s just the way Kurt is, selfish or not, coward or not.

“Well, you guys can all still go out together and experience the wild night life of Lima, Ohio.” Blaine smiles, “I’m afraid you’ll only have to miss the two of us.”

“But we’ll be missing you in Kentucky as well.” Sam promises solemnly.

“There will be much missing had by all,” Blaine agrees, and Kurt really hopes he didn’t imagine Blaine’s glance towards him.

“Just think… these are the last songs we’re gonna sing on the Callbacks stage in 2015,” Rachel muses. After a second she’s sprinting towards the sign up sheet, and everyone’s laughing.

“I think we should have a toast to 2015. And the new friendships that came with it!” Tina offers.

“Even if they were rocky to start with…” Blaine adds with a smirk towards Kurt.

“Careful now, they’ll think we’re friends,” Kurt teases back, eliciting another group-wide laugh.

“You know what I think we all deserve, to finish out the year with a bang?” Sam grins. There’s something dangerous about it.

“A duet from Kurt and Blaine?!” Tina gasps excitedly, and Kurt just knows the two of them discussed this previously.

“Got it in one, Tina, got it in one!” Sam slow claps and winks at her.

Kurt watches as Blaine hides his face and an embarrassed chuckle behind his hands. “Obviously not.”

“Come on…!” Tina pouts. “You don’t even have to go on stage! You can do it right here, before the stage opens…”

“I will not be seen singing with someone who actually has an outline for the opening song of The Musical, Star Wars.”

Blaine snorts into his beer, and looks mostly proud of himself.

“What are we laughing about?” Rachel asks as she sits herself down.

“Tina’s trying to get them to sing a duet together.” Santana explains, looking only mildly entertained by the whole thing. “Kurt’s refusing on the basis that Anderson’s a dork.”

“Oh, please, you guys, please! It would be such a lovely way to punctuate how you’ve changed and evolved together. I have a few suggestions, you could-“

“ _Valjean, at last,_ ” Kurt starts at the top of his lungs, startling everyone and making Blaine spit a mouthful of beer back into his glass. _“We see each other plain, Monsieur le Mayor, You'll wear a different chain!_ ”

“Okay, um, huh... yeah. _Before you say another word, Javert!_ ” Blaine has a hard time singing instead of laughing, but he muddles through and catches his rhythm and determination. “ _Before you chain me up like a slave again, Listen to me!_ ”

Even without microphones and a stage, and despite all the laughing from their table that threatens to make them slip up and mess it up, they finish standing, high above everyone else, on their stools, and gathering a rousing round of applause from the whole bar.

Blaine doubles over laughing and extends a shaking hand over to Kurt who high fives him, before they hop down from their stools.

“Kinky.” Santana smirks, before sipping her bloody Mary.

Kurt ignores her and turns back to Sam and Tina, the former is wiping away tears of laughter, the latter clutching her stomach and breathing like she just ran the marathon. “Merry Christmas.”

Sam holds out his hand for his own high five and Kurt obliges.

“Well,” Rachel starts in a tone that makes Kurt know nothing too good is about to come out of it. “That was so good that I simply need another one.”

“YES!” everyone else at the table shouts.

“Guys…” Blaine rolls his eyes. “Come on.”

“If you don’t like being put on the spot like that, why do you even want to be performers?” Rachel argues loftily.

Kurt watches Blaine closely. He can’t tell if Blaine is holding out because he genuinely doesn’t want to sing another song with Kurt, or because he thinks Kurt doesn’t want to sing another song with him. (That’s why one should never make a mess of one’s feelings for someone and expect them to know what to do with it)

“We’ll think about it.” Kurt says with some resolution to his tone. Blaine gives him a smile, and like that, the issue is tabled.

It takes two people to come and go to the stage for Blaine to end up sitting next to Kurt – only this time Rachel or Tina’s interfering was not needed at all.

“Next time you want to start a duet with me, wait till I’ve swallowed my beer,” Blaine murmurs, leaning close, and quite possibly taking advantage of everyone’s attention on Tina’s performance.

Their elbows are touching. Kurt leans even further in so that the contact is elbow to shoulder. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Blaine seems to need a moment to bite back some laughter. “You think it’s fun when I choke?” A chuckle escapes, high pitched and strained.

Kurt’s face might as well have burst into flames. “Shut up,” he mutters. “You were supposed to be a gentleman.”

Blaine laughs and shrugs. “We were supposed to hate each other.” He goes back to his drink with such nonchalance Kurt could kill him. Or kiss him.

“Are you saying we don’t?” Kurt asks, just because he needs Blaine to keep paying attention to him.

Blaine looks up from where he’s slowly sipping his beer and shakes his head with a smile. Before Kurt can reply, he’s up and walking away to the sign up table.

This night might just kill him.

But then again, Kurt absolutely loves nights like this – for all the torture they are, wanting Blaine and not even saying anything about it for fear of their friends overhearing, at least he knows where Blaine is. He knows he’s not in some back alley putting himself in danger – and if Blaine’s drinking, then he also knows that he’s going straight home afterwards. Kurt will sleep soundly tonight. There are many reasons nights like these have become Kurt’s favorites – and this is one of the biggest. The only way to make it better? The two of them alone together.

They have spent time just them, in the afternoons (hell, most days they’ll get together for the afternoon and evening up to the point where Sam will come home and join them for dinner), but they’ve never been alone at night, and there’s just something more urgent about the dark that Kurt needs to experience with Blaine. He just knows that’s the extra kick they both need to do _something_.

Kurt watches him at the sign up table and tries to draw up the courage to act.

Blaine comes back soon enough, but Tina does too, and the conversation goes back to taking the whole table. Every once in a while Kurt will glance at Blaine and find him sipping at his beer with a mischievous glint in his eye. He knows something’s cooking and he’s curious and kind of impatient for it.

But he still wishes they were alone and anywhere but a crowded bar, because it might be the alcohol in him, it might be the giddiness of knowing Blaine’s with him and safe, it might just be the look in Blaine’s eyes, but he’s pretty sure the courage to do and say what needs to be done and said has definitely and finally kicked in.

Suddenly, just as he’s taking the last, big sip of his cocktail, Blaine starts singing right next to him, microphone right next to his ear.

“ _You've changed,_ ” he sings, his voice low and maybe even sultry. _“You're daring. You're different in the woods.”_ Kurt struggles to recover from practically killing himself with his drink, and he can see that that fact is amusing Blaine to no end. _“More sure. More sharing. You're getting us through the woods_.”

“ _If you could see- You're not the man who started_ ,” Blaine grabs Kurt’s scarf from the back of a chair and winds once around Kurt’s neck, all the while singing. He pulls Kurt, weaving him through the crowd and towards the stage, a shit-eating grin on his face as he does. “ _And much more openhearted, than I knew, You to be._ ”

Blaine takes the second microphone and offers it to Kurt with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

He sticks out his tongue before he takes it, just in time. “ _It takes two. I thought one was enough, it's not true: It takes two of us, You came through, When the journey was rough. It took you. It took two of us_.”

They don’t exactly sing or dance it like a loved up couple, but they make it work in their own tongue in cheek way, and Kurt may have actually never had this much fun on a stage before. When they finish, on the final “It takes two”, it’s only the thunder of applause that keeps him from closing the distance.

He swallows instead and returns Blaine’s smile, who looks just as nervous and shaky-breathed as Kurt. It helps.

Their friends might be obnoxious, but somehow they’re tactful enough not to mention their flushed cheeks and shy smiles, and instead focus on congratulating them and thanking them for the second duet.

The shots start soon afterwards, with toasts about the previous year, and toasts about the upcoming one.

On the fourth one Kurt decides to throw (most) caution to the wind. Making sure no one else is watching them, he leans over to Blaine and whispers. “I might head home soon…”

Blaine leans back enough to look at Kurt’s expression and decipher it. Kurt hopes he’s good at identifying desperate yearning for alone time.

Blaine frowns and bites his lips for a moment, before he leans back in, “I… I can walk you home, if you want?”

Kurt’s internal organs set off the best fireworks in town. He grins, “Yap. Yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

Blaine smiles, wide and happy and he looks at Kurt as if he’s a little insane but remarkably captivating. Or at least, that’s what Kurt hopes Blaine is looking at him like. Whatever it is, it feels like nothing has ever felt before. It feels phenomenal.

“One more drink? For the road?” Kurt smiles.

“Sure.” Blaine puts a hand softly over the small of Kurt’s back. “I’ll get them.”

And then the worst possible thing happens. In a move that Kurt could have only predicted if he’d been paying attention to anyone but himself and Blaine through the whole night, Rachel jolts up from her seat and barely has time to turn away from the table before she’s puking all over Blaine, who’d been passing by her on his way to the bar.

Fuck.

-

Kurt wakes up with a slight headache. Between the considerable drinking and the annoyance of losing his shot at an absolutely beautiful and built up romantic walk with Blaine to a plastered drunk, vomiting Rachel, Kurt is not in the best of moods. He shuffles out of his room to find something disgusting to eat. He glares at Rachel, who was forced to sleep stomach down on the couch with a plastic bag glued to her cheek and draped over the couch – open and in position to receive any more vomit.

The fridge is depressingly empty, and what few things are in it are much too healthy to satisfy Kurt’s hunger and rage. He takes out the flour, eggs and sugar and starts preparing pancakes, not at all mindful of the noises his making. From the direction of the couch he can hear Rachel slipping in and out of consciousness.

He’s done eating about half of the enormous pile he made when he finally makes himself take a plate of pancakes for her.

He finds her tapping away at the phone with one eye still closed and a tissue glued to her chin.

Wait.

That’s his phone.

“Rachel, that’s my phone,” he says.

“Oh,” she mumbles and drops it unceremoniously.

Kurt refrains from strangling her and drops the plate of pancakes on her stomach before grabbing the phone to check if there’s any damage.

The world stops.

It’s open on his texts with Blaine, and the screen is filled with texts he most definitely did not send, and Blaine’s prompt replies. Every one is worse than the previous.

_From Kurt: Im sorry!_

_From Kurt: I was so drunk! So stupid_

_From Kurt: Pleaes forgive me!_

**From Blaine: Oh. Okay. Sure. Nothing to forgive. It’s fine. I guess I’m sorry, too, then. If I pushed at something that wasn’t there...**

_From Kurt: Today sacks. Morning hurts my soul. I really shouldn’t have drank that much. It makes me do stupid things. :(_

**From Blaine: Yeah. Just be sure to drink lots of water and take some aspirin. Anyway, I have stuff to take care of. Have a nice Christmas. Bye.**

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Rachel!” Kurt throws every single pillow he can get his hands on at her and then some of the lighter objects, and then a book. “Rachel, I hate you!”

“Stooop,” she groans, but Kurt’s not there to listen anymore. He’s yanking off his pajamas and grabbing the first clean clothes he can find.

He should probably text Blaine or call him, anything that would fix Rachel’s screw-up as fast as possible. But this thing has gone on long enough and he wants it beyond fixed.

He doesn’t bother with the subway, Blaine lives close enough that if he hurries it’s quicker on foot.

He takes the opportunity of a stoplight to shoot him a text.

_From Kurt: ignore the previous texts, it wasn’t me. Stay home. I’m coming over._

The cars finally stop and the light turns green. He resumes jogging.

When he reaches Blaine’s building he takes the steps two at a time, and only takes a second to stare at the closed door before knocking. Or pounding on it.

It opens barely a second after. “Dude, I-Oh. Kurt?!” Sam frowns down at him. He’s half-naked, standing there in a pair of boxers and sleep mussed hair.

“Blaine?”

“He _just_ left." Sam frowns, “You didn’t see him?”

“Where is he? When’s he coming back, can I wait here? I really need to talk to him.”

“Kurt, he’s…” Sam cringes and points at the TV. “He’s being stupid…”

On the TV there’s a breaking news report. An armed robbery with hostages. “What?!”

“Yeah…” Sam is looking at the TV apprehensively.

“You didn’t stop him?! You idiot!” Kurt mutters, before he takes notice of where it’s happening and takes off running.

He takes a cab at the first chance he sees, and keeps his eye out for Blaine through the streets. He spots him just a block away from it all. He’s not even wearing the suit.

“Blaine!” he calls, as soon as he slams the car door shut. He sprints. “Blaine, stop!”

“Wha-Kurt?”

“What are you doing? You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Blaine frowns at him. Breath hitching and heavy from the running. “I have to help.”

“That’s an _armed_ robbery! You’re not bullet-proof!” He grabs Blaine’s elbow and pulls him in the opposite direction of the scene.

“Those people still stand a better chance of coming out okay if I’m in there.” Blaine yanks his arm away.

“It’s one thing to prance around town stopping idiot muggers, but this is serious, Blaine!” He grabs a fistful of Blaine’s sweater, “You could get killed! Please!”

“Careful, Kurt, people might think that you _care_!” Blaine hisses.

He jerks again, but doesn’t quite manage to get out of Kurt’s grip, who uses the momentum to pull him back with a violent tug. He miscalculates his strength though, because before he knows it, Blaine is losing his footing and falling right towards the open road, into oncoming traffic. Kurt watches in horror as Blaine’s back collides with a car. There’s the sound of screeching tires and burning rubber, and after a split second Blaine’s sprawled on the asphalt.

“Blaine?!”

Kurt’s never felt more relief than when Blaine grunts and stirs. By the time Kurt gets to him, Blaine’s pushing himself to sit up, face and hands a mess of bloody scratches. He falters and gasps in pain as he tries to put weight on his left arm.

“Fuck,” Kurt breathes. “Someone, call an ambulance.”

The driver’s scrambling out of the car, his eyes wide with shock. He moves to follow Kurt’s directions, only to be interrupted by Blaine’s protests.

“No, I’m fine.” Blaine pushes himself to his feet, miraculously keeping himself up right, and dabs at the blood pouring out of his eyebrow.

“You’re not fine!” Kurt glares. “Your arm is probably broken. Your face is a mess!”

Blaine returns every ounce of electricity in Kurt’s glare. “So what if my arm is broken? I’m still going in there.”

As Blaine turns and starts to walk away, Kurt doesn’t dare to touch him again. “Dammit! This is not a comic book, Blaine!” He yells, desperate anger lacing his voice.

“No, it’s _not_. It’s real life, and there are real people in there.”

“You’ll get hurt!” Kurt pleads, barely keeping it together.

Blaine gives him a sardonic laugh and rolls his eyes before he starts jogging in the absolute wrong direction of where Kurt wants him to go.


	5. Part Five: The End of the Pride and the Prejudice, and the Start of the Superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My many thanks to notthetoothfairy for helping me so much with this story! she made it a lot better than it was, and she made sure i even wanted to finish it in the first place. :)  
> Thank you also to everyone reading and commenting and everything else :D it means the world to me!

If you ever ask Blaine Anderson how he managed to break into a hostage situation, undetected by both cops and robbers, make his way through the building into the hot zone, fake himself as one of the hostages, find the perfect moment to get the guns to scorch without the risk of making them accidentally press the trigger and killing someone, and get their clothes equally scorching without actually catching on fire, to the point of them writhing on the floor completely neutralized but without being a danger or fire hazard to anyone else, get everybody out safely, and make sure none of this could be traced back to the almost normal looking boy in a sweater and jeans in the corner of the room that the security cameras probably caught on tape – all the while sporting a painfully broken arm, a roughed up face, and bloody palms and knees -… if you ever ask Blaine how he managed all that? He will tell you he has absolutely no idea, but that he’s damn glad he did.

And as far as anyone is concerned his arm got broken when one of the bad guys shoved him down a flight of stairs, very much off camera.

Well, it might not be traceable back to him, but it sure is obvious to everyone that something very strange happened in there. If for the past couple of months the idea of a capital S Superhero was entertained exclusively by discredited small blogs and periodics, this will surely make front page of the big ones. He just hopes no one connects both. And he sure as fuck hopes no one connects it to him.

His only hope is everyone’s absolute inability to accept the unexplainable. They will spew off theories of weird combustible fabrics and punctual weather phenomena before they would ever entertain the idea of superpowers. Hell, they might sooner think of a Batman before they think of what Blaine really is – and if they think of Batman, then his practically empty bank account will surely clear him of any suspicion.

After a quick report to the police as a witness (and promise to stay reachable, even if leaving for the holidays), he finally gets permission to be taken to the Hospital, where other detectives will meet him for an even more thorough interview.

He shares an ambulance with a little girl and her mother. The girl had an asthma attack, amidst all the panic and confusion. Back inside the building, she’d been sitting a few people down from Blaine, and he could see her getting worse by the second. It pushed him into action. He has no idea how much more time he would’ve wasted waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike if it hadn’t been for her. They got her to the paramedics just in time. She already looks back to normal.

“What’s wrong with you? Your face has bruises and blood on it,” the little girls says. Then she points at the arm he’s been cradling to his chest. “Did you hurt your arm, too?”

Blaine decides he might as well keep her entertained and distracted throughout the ride. Her mother still looks like she’s in shock and he needs the distraction just as much – his arm is kind of killing him right now and he needs to think about anything else other than what just happened.

He shrugs and smiles. “Yup. I think it’s broken. I fell.”

“I broke my arm too, once. I was five. I got a purple cast and all of my friends signed it.”

“I like purple,” he smiles.

“Will you let me sign yours?” She grins.

“Well, sure.” He smiles back, “If you’re still around when I get back from getting it done. But I’m pretty sure you’ll be in and out of there.”

“We can wait.” She shrugs. The mother looks like she wants to contradict her.

“I’m sure your mom is tired. You’ve had a long day. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes,” She grins, “they’re with my daddy at home. They wanted to come meet us, but the police told them to stay home.”

“And I bet they wanna see you as soon as possible, to make sure you’re okay.” Blaine reaches over to ruffle her hair.

“Well, you can come over for dinner tomorrow!” She is determined, Blaine has got to hand her that.

“Sandy…” her mother murmurs.

He chuckles. “I wish I could. But I have to pack. I’m leaving to visit my parents in Kentucky. For Christmas.”

“Oh…” she frowns. “Can we take a selfie together, then?”

Blaine laughs, “Of course.”

“Mom, your phone!” she demands it, and the woman retrieves it from her purse.

Sandy sits on Blaine’s lap and they spend the rest of the way to the hospital taking selfies. Since the paramedics cleaned it, his face looks significantly better than it feels. He has a nasty cut on his right eyebrow, and scrapes on his right cheek and jawbone, with the bruises to match – but it still looks better than it feels.

When the paramedics tell them they’ve arrived and they hop off the ambulance, Sandy hugs him. “Can I tell the kids at my school that you’re my new boyfriend? They would be jealous and they would stop making fun of me. You’re very pretty!”

Blaine can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. “Thanks! Sure! Give’em hell.” He gives her a quick kiss on her cheek before he follows the nurse waiting for him.

It makes for a much quicker time through the ER when you’ve come from a crime scene, even when your only real injury is a broken arm. Blaine has gotten his X-Ray done, and the cuts on his face cleaned and bandaged, and is diligently awaiting the doctor in less than forty minutes.

It’s a good thing too, because he’s absolutely exhausted, in pain, and hungry and cold, and up until the moment he realized he’d saved almost twenty people from three men with guns and ski masks, he’d been having one of the absolute worst days of his year. Come to think of it, the relief of saving those people still doesn’t outweigh both the horrible morning or, more important, the absolute stress and panic of the whole process of saving them.

Now that the pure adrenaline is gone, everything that made it a horrible day is coming back to him with the added stress of the whole situation – he hadn’t allowed himself to truly feel it until he’d been in a silly wheelchair, a nurse checking his cuticles and ignoring him while he waited in line for an x-ray. It had hit him suddenly: he’d been in the same room with men that could have easily and in a split-second killed him. A single bullet to his head and that would have been it. That’s when the panic sets in – up until now he's been on auto-pilot. Distracting the cops to get inside through the back. Taking calculated risks with the guns. Making sure to kick the guns as far away from the assailants as possible. Slowly opening the front door so the cops wouldn’t mistake him for one of the wrong parties. Keeping everyone calm and orderly through the exit. Helping Sandy and her mother to the paramedics and telling them what was wrong. Giving a first, rushed report to the police. Distracting Sandy on their way to the Hospital…

The only reason he even manages to reign in his sudden spike in stress is the lights flickering through the whole corridor – one of the lamps explodes and he snaps back to reality. Everyone around him startles for a moment, and then chuckles it off once it's established the exploding lamp hasn’t hurt anyone. Silly little ghosts are to blame, clearly.

Blaine waits in his chair and focuses solely on his breathing.

And afterwards, as he waits for the doctor to put his arm in a cast, and for the detective to come, and basically just for the whole day to end so he can go home, he does the same.

He wants painkillers, his apartment, his bed and a lot of unperturbed sleep. And then he wants to fly home, and he wants his mom to hug him and tell him he’s okay.

He also wants her to tell him it’ll be alright and that he’ll get over that silly, dumb boy, and that this whole day was just a not-so-tiny misstep in everything good that is yet to come – he might know her unfaltering optimism is unrealistic, but it’s always made his world a little bit safer and warmer and he so needs it now. So, he really wished the doctor would hurry up.

However, when the curtains fly open, it’s Kurt.

“Oh thank god, you’re okay!”

Blaine can’t make himself smile. “I do have a broken arm. Thanks to you.”

“I am so sorry, Blaine. So sorry! I was just trying to protect you,” Kurt pleads, moving as if to step closer but stopping himself. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Well, of course you didn’t mean for that to happen. But it did. You threw me in front of a moving car, Kurt!”

“Blaine-“

“And you didn’t mean it. I get it. But it doesn’t matter because it still hurt me! Just like you didn’t mean any of last night. Just like you didn’t mean to make me think you cared about me that way, and it still-“

“I do!” Kurt gasps, hands grasping at his hair, eyes wild and cheeks flushed. “I care about you like that! Those texts were from Rachel! She thought it was her phone, and dammit, if I was still charging the damn thing every night that phone would’ve been on my nightstand safely charging and not on the damn coffee table next to her, ready for her to fuck everything up.” He pauses a moment to breathe, he looks so intense, possibly even angry. What _he_ has to be angry about is completely beyond Blaine, though. “See what you do? You drive me crazy! Blaine, you turn everything upside down, and you make me… wanna strangle, and also kiss you. Because I do want you. All the time. And I tried – I really tried to fight it, but I’m mad about you. And if I have to listen to the Imperial March, or watch terrible films, then so be it. Because I like you so fucking much that I don’t know what to do with myself. Blaine… I…” he sighs, finally losing steam and dropping his shoulders with a tentative smile. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Wow…” Blaine breathes. “I had no idea that caring about me was such an ordeal…” He can feel the prickling of tears, and a burning in his throat, but he could care less if Kurt sees him crying and hurt right now. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, if it tortures you so much.”

“Blaine that’s not-”

“I am so, so sorry, Kurt. But you know what...? You’re going to get better. I’ll be out of your hair for as long as possible. Even after we’re both back, I’ll just… disappear, and you can resume your life as perfect as it was before I came along and turned it upside down and drove you mad with my horrible films and stupid music.”

“That’s not at all what I meant! That’s not what I want!” Kurt pleads. He looks hurt, like Blaine. Good. “I’m in love with you! I just - I never thought it would happen, not for a second, and it did, and I’m just trying to get my head around it. But I want to be with you! Forget everything else, I just… I’m sorry. I just meant to say that I was taken aback by all this, and it happened so fast that I… I got confused, that’s all. It was just weird… feeling this – I never thought I would fall for you like this-”

“Oh, yeah, like, it’s weird, because it’s despite the fact that I’m complete dork? Despite the fact that I’m a self-righteous goody two shoes…? Despite the fact that I helped you even when you didn't want me to… despite everything I am! Fan-freaking-tastic! Just the love declaration I’ve always wanted to hear! Everything about me repulses you, but you love me!”

“No!” Kurt gasps.

“I fell for you _because_ you’re so stubborn, and because you can never admit you’re wrong, and because you have absolutely zero self-awareness, and because you drove me crazy, and because you make fun of my passion for sci-fi and comic books-“

“Blaine-“

“I used to think it was kind of adorable that you’d never admit to caring about me. I thought it was just some private joke of ours – ah ah ah it’s so funny, we used to hate each other and he never admits to being wrong so he’ll always say he hates me even though he doesn’t, _hilarious_! But it wasn’t, was it? You were actually ashamed of your feelings for me? God forbid anyone else at the bar yesterday noticed you flirting with me the whole night! How mortifying for you!”

“That’s not true!” Kurt breathes, with a sob.

“Isn’t it?” Blaine glares.

Kurt’s shuddering breath is the only sound in the room. He opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out.

Blaine had no idea he still had any hope that Kurt could prove him wrong, but there it was. He doesn't know where to go from there, but thankfully he’s spared the trouble of saying anything else when the doctor comes along.

“Oh!” she falters as she takes in the scene. Two teary-eyed, red-faced guys, and room full of shocked, silent patients and nurses. “Is… this a bad time?”

“No. He was just leaving,” Blaine tells her.

“Blaine…!” Kurt breathes. “Please! It’s not like that…”

“Just go away...”

“Please-“

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, now,” the doctor tells him. Her tone is confused and a little hesitant, but she still puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and steers him away from Blaine.

-x-

“If you didn’t want my opinion, then why did you even ask?” Sam fiddles with his tray, looking torn between amusement and annoyance.

 _Because this thing with Kurt is the least of my problems right now, and I have to start dealing with at least one of those_. “I did not overreact,” Blaine says.

“And I do not want to have this conversation on a two hour flight to Kentucky, but it’s happening…” Sam shrugs, and puts the tray back up and locked, before turning his attention fully to Blaine and surrendering to the topic.

“He basically said I was the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

“I highly doubt that.” Sam smiles, and immediately drops it when Blaine glares.

“He basically did.”

“Except for the part where he said he was in love with you.”

“Right, which was right around the time where he said he tried his best to fight the feeling because apparently the idea of being in love with me made him feel sick to his stomach.”

“His exact wording, I presume?” Sam laughs. He is so not taking this seriously.

“Might as well have been. And forget about it, you clearly don’t understand.” Blaine’s fully aware he looks like a five year old sulking, crossing his arms over his chest (and uncrossing them, because it’s feels awkward to do that with a broken arm in a cast) and turning towards the window.

Sam lets out a painstaking sigh. “I do. I understand it. He broke your arm, and then he basically apologized with the worst love declaration ever. Who cares? He’s an idiot! You knew that already! You’re in love with that idiot yourself. Did you expect him not to be one when it came to the two of you?”

Blaine can’t really argue with that. “Kinda…”

“I’m not saying you weren’t right to take him down a few notches. I’m just saying, don’t write him off just yet. If he asks for a second chance at saying it right, give him one.”

“Maybe… I don’t know… is it always going to be like this…? Him acting like… like caring about me is such a sacrifice on his part…? Like he’s doing me this huge favor, entertaining feelings for me?”

“Man. Come on. Do you really think that’s how he feels?”

“I hope not…”

“It took me a week of knowing him to figure out the dude’s emotionally constipated. I mean, look at his two best friends. He’ll be lucky if Rachel gives him five minutes of the day to talk about anything other than her own problems, and Santana is probably the Queen of Emotional Constipation herself. If he tried talking to her about his feelings, she’d probably tell him to stop being a pussy and to go get drunk or whatever.”

“Is that the best excuse you can come up with for him?”

Sam chuckles. “Kinda. But come on… cut him some slack. I’d put money on the fact that that was the first time he’s ever put himself on the line like that. He’s a good guy, and he cares about you.”

Blaine pauses to take in Sam’s advice. He has no idea why he’s fighting it in the first place. He wants nothing more than to call Kurt and tell him they can be together forever. But he meant everything he said in that hospital room, and it really hurt knowing that while Kurt was in love with him, he wasn’t in love with being in love. It scares him that maybe Kurt really is ashamed of Blaine, that Kurt will never be as invested in their relationship, should it happen, as Blaine. That they’ll just go back to hating each other.

“Have you stopped to think about the last few months? What the fuck…” Blaine whispers. “I mean, after all that, here you are defending Mr. Fingers McSnappy…”

Sam laughs and there’s a moment of silence.

“Can I ask you something, though?” Sam asks, his voice much lower. Much more intimate. “Don’t you think it’d feel nice to have him to rely on, as well as me, about everything that happened that day…? Someone else you can talk to about those nightmares these last couple of nights…? Someone who knows you and cares about you _almost_ as much as I do…?”

Blaine musters up a small smile. “I guess,” he mutters. “I did manage a full night of sleep last night… I think the shock’s wearing off. Today I’m feeling… _a lot_ better. And I’ll go to the group meetings… when we come back.”

“That’s good.” Sam nods. “I just... I know it’s useful to have other things to obsess over, but sooner or later you’re going to have to admit that this superhero shit just got very real, and when that day comes, you should have the best support system you can have.”

Blaine takes those words in. Sam’s right. He’s using the drama with Kurt to avoid the drama with his powers and what he can use them for. To avoid deciding if he can truly handle it, or if the possibility of one day making the tiniest of mistakes that costs someone’s life is enough to paralyze him altogether. And maybe he should just stop running from the real problem.

The truth is, he’s just a music student who wanted to make art and help people. He never planned for that second part to be connected to dangerous, life-threatening situations. And it’s all fun and games when he’s chasing one or two guys down a dark street, where all he has to fight off are fists or the occasional knife. Punches to his face he can handle just fine, but bullet holes on people he’s trying to protect?

Sam would tell him to stop obsessing over what didn’t happen. Could-have’s help no one.

But it’s a pretty big could-have.

Yes, he managed to make sure seventeen people go out of a horrifying situation unscathed. But what if next time he fucks it all up?

-x-

From Sam: How was your mom? Did you tell her?

**From Blaine: I told her what I had to. I told her about the hold up and everything that happened (she knew most of it anyway, from the news and the police), but I didn’t tell her about the part where I was the one doing all of it. She was upset, I guess. Borderline hysterical (you saw what she was like at the airport, and that was in public…). And spent the whole day hugging me. But I think it’s all better now. She’s calm. I’ve convinced her now that I’m not suffering from ptsd or anything like that and she’s stopped looking up shrinks.**

From Sam: I like Pam. She’s a good one.

**From Blaine: Yeah, I like her too, I guess.**

From Sam: My parents are also harboring a great desire to see you again, just to double check you’re still alive and bullet-hole free. “Five minutes at the airport aren’t enough, Samuel. Make sure they come over for Christmas!”

**From Blaine: Ahah! We will!**

**From Blaine: Holy shit my dad’s here.**

From Sam: TELL ME ALL.

From Sam: Blaine????

From Sam: dude.......

**From Blaine: He wants to make sure I’m okay. He can’t stay for Christmas, but he’ll stay till tomorrow. He’s very sorry he was so distant. The call from the police saying I was in a hostage situation was a wake-up call. He’s offering to pay my tuition. He wants to come back into my life.**

From Sam: good or bad?

**From Blaine: Good with a pinch of salt…? I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I wanted this. So so bad.**

From Sam: But you’re scared it’s not gonna last?

**From Blaine: Yeah. And it’s not like he deserves my forgiveness…**

From Sam: Give it anyway. Believe him. Take it as what you always wanted. And if it doesn’t last, then we’ll deal with that heartbreak when it comes – you, me and Kurt ;) (and the rest of your friends, I guess)

**From Blaine: I guess... Thanks. We’re going out for dinner now, to catch up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.**

-

Christmas Eve with Pam Anderson involves a lot more eggnog than any other family would consider normal – especially because it’s usually Pam cajoling her own underage son into drinking games with her. Well, it’s not like they’ve got appearances to maintain – it’s just the two of them. Blaine’s dad left the day before, and while it was strangely nice to reconnect, it was still bizarre and it’s a relief that it was just a short day and half for now – baby steps.

Sam’s family invited them for both Christmas Day and Christmas Eve, but they quite like to have at least one of those days just for the two of them. To really be together and not care about anything other than each other’s company and the safety and comfort it brings.

Drunk off of eggnog and spending the day with a woman who’s a bigger gossip than any high school cheerleader in the world and can read him like the palm of her hand, Blaine finally opens up about Kurt. At the time she listens and doesn’t offer anything other than comfort and understanding. But later in the night, when Blaine’s curling up under his own covers, his door is pushed open, the golden light of the corridor lamp spilling over his hardwood floor, and something is thrown on top of him. It’s small, light and it rattles when it lands.

Blaine pushes himself up to his elbows and glances at his mother’s silhouette at the door, before looking at the unidentified flying object. It’s a DVD case.

“Mom, I’ve seen _and read_ Pride  & Prejudice, thanks…”

“Really? Well, it seems to me that you could still stand to remember a few things, then, Miss Bennet.” With that, she leaves.

Blaine stares after her, even though she closed the door and left him in complete darkness.

“Fuck…” he sighs, throwing his covers off and turning on his bedside lamp. He grabs his phone.

**From Blaine: Merry Christmas, Kurt. (sorry if I woke you up)**

_From Kurt: Merry Christmas to you too, Blaine! I really hope you’re enjoying your time at home. I bet you missed your mom, and I bet she was so happy to see you home safe. (I’m glad that you woke me up)_

**From Blaine: Yeah. We had an interesting evening today, but we’re spending tomorrow at Sam’s, with all of his family. I’m looking forward to it. I hope everything’s going well with your family; it must be nice to spend some time with your dad.**

_From Kurt: We watched The Incredibles today, actually._

_From Kurt: I wish you were here._

_From Kurt: I’m sorry. That was probably too much. I’m sorry._

**From Blaine: It’s fine.**

**From Blaine: I’m relieved to hear that, actually.**

_From Kurt: I’m definitely relieved to hear that. If I don’t reply in the next five minutes, it’s because I’m composing the mile-long apology I owe you._

**From Blaine: Don’t. It’s okay. Can we just put it all behind us and start fresh when we see each other in January?**

_From Kurt: I don’t want to not talk to you until then._

**From Blaine: I just think it’s better if we talk things through in person. Nothing to misinterpret. No Rachel sending texts from your phone and kind of breaking my heart... And no rushing through speeches. No adrenaline rush twisting words. Don’t you want to be sure that it goes well, this time? I’m happy to wait if it means doing it properly.**

**From Blaine: I really care about you. I don’t want to screw this up.**

_From Kurt: I guess I can live with that for now. I care about you too. A lot._

**From Blaine: That’s good to hear (read). I’m exhausted and you were asleep, so, let’s call it a night, and we’ll talk first thing when we get back to NY. :) Merry Christmas and happy New Year!**

_From Kurt: The best Christmas now. You too. Sweet dreams!_

-

Christmas Day at the Evans’ is very nice, even if a little loud. There’s Stevie and Stacey and even though they’ve grown some since the last time Blaine saw them at the end of summer, they’re still at that age when attention is all they want and they will stop at nothing to get it. Blaine is, naturally, the most exotic and interesting guest for the day, the main target for their needs. They refuse to take the fact that it’s the first time Blaine and Pam come over for Christmas as an excuse as to why there are no real traditions. Instead, they declare everything they want to do is a tradition.

Under that guise, Blaine finds himself doing various things like playing dolls with Stacey (an elaborate story wherein Stevie’s Action Man kidnaps Stacey’s brand new favorite Barbie doll, and her Ken dolls must then save her from the evil clutches of the perpetrator, with the help of two other Barbie dolls, best friends to the kidnapee), or accompanying Stevie as he invents a new game Blaine absolutely has no idea what it’s about or how to play (but they do, and it involves toilet paper and crayons and Stevie wins). Finally, the sun has gone down, by the time Blaine finds himself one-handedly helping all three siblings in what is a true tradition of building a snowman.

“Blaine,” Stacey starts, still looking very concentrated in her task of dotting the body with black buttons. “Did you know that my daddy was my mommy’s brother’s best friend?”

Blaine glances up at Sam from where he’s shaping the snow into a circle. Sam smirks at him. What is it with kids wanting him to be their boyfriend, lately? Does he give off a pedophile vibe?

“I did not.”

“Well, it’s true,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And I think that was very smart of them. Because then my daddy was part of my uncle’s family and not just his best friend. And everyone was very happy.”

“I’m sure Stevie will have many eligible bachelor friends for you to choose from, Stace, but Blaine’s off the market.” Sam chuckles and adds, “Well, off your market.”

“Ew.” Stevie twists his nose, “None of my friend would ever want to be her boyfriends. Ew. And even if they did, I wouldn’t let them. Then they would want to play with her instead of me. No. I don’t think so.”

Stacey seems well-versed in ignoring Stevie. She steps over to the back of the snowman where Blaine is sitting. “Do you have a girlfriend, then?”

Blaine smiles, “No. I’m gay.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nods, and the moment of disappointment is short-lived. “Stevie might yet find out he’s gay, too. Do you have a boyfriend?” She ignores Sam and Blaine’s laughter – as well as Stevie’s confused, half-hearted protest. She looks down at Blaine waiting for a reply.

“N- well… it’s… complicated. Maybe.” He twists his nose and prepares himself to go back to the snowman.

“Maybe?” Stacey frowns.

Blaine doesn’t miss the way Sam’s attention is equally peaked, so he knows he won’t be getting any help to end the conversation any time soon. “I like this guy, and he likes me too. And we were friends. But right before we separated for the holidays – he’s from Ohio -, he told me he liked me. But he was very rude about it, and so I was upset with him.”

“How can he be rude if he’s telling you he likes you?” She frowns and plops down next to him.

“You’d be surprised.” Blaine scoffs, chuckling. She continues to look at him, expecting a response. “He told me he liked me, but that he didn’t want to like me. That liking me made him upset and angry at himself.”

“Well, duh. Why would anyone want to like anyone? Most of the time it doesn’t end well. Like, when my best friend Annie started being Johnnie’s girlfriend but he wanted to have more than one girlfriend, and she said it was okay, because she just wanted to be his girlfriend no matter what, she liked him very much, but then he spent more time with his other girlfriend and she was sad.”

“Johnnie’s a douchebag,” Sam mutters.

“Also, in the show mom watches every day, even people who are married to each other want other girlfriends and boyfriends, and that’s very bad and makes everyone sad. I wouldn’t want to like anyone either.”

“You just practically asked Blaine to be your boyfriend,” Sam points out, clearly amused.

“Yes, because he’s very nice, and he does everything I ask him to, so he wouldn’t want to have other girlfriends if I asked him not to. He’s different. Besides, I don’t like him like that, so it would be fine,” she explains easily, and Blaine refrains from saying it doesn’t make that much sense. In her seven-year-old mind it probably does.

“Okay. So you’re saying that Kurt was right to not want to like me, then?”

“Yes.”

“And that I shouldn’t want to like him either?”

“Exactly.” She smiles.

“You’re too young to be this jaded.” Sam frowns, twisting his nose at his sister.

Blaine laughs, “I have no idea if this was another attempt from the universe to talk me into asking Kurt to be with me, but it was a terrible one. Besides, kid, Sam and my mom already did the trick. I texted him last night and we’re gonna try to have that conversation again. But better this time.”

He looks up at Sam who gives him a thumbs-up and a proud smile. Blaine’s being unfair. There was no meddling from the universe – or if there was, it was merely surrounding him with people who only want what’s best for him, especially when he’s having a hard time discerning what that might be. People who want protect him from everything, including himself.

And Kurt might have thrown Blaine in front of a car, but that moment was all about Kurt trying to do exactly that – misguided and short sighted as he might have been – it was still a moment of caring, of trying to protect. Blaine finds himself smiling at the thought, warmth bubbling up inside of him and making him itch for his phone, for a car or a plane. He stands by his words – he wants things with Kurt to work out, and for that he really does think they need to talk, properly and in person – but he still wishes that moment would come faster; that he could skip ahead and bypass the rest of Christmas and New Year’s and be in New York, in his or Kurt’s place, talking and then maybe kissing. Kissing him, at last.

Kissing Kurt….

“What?!” Stacey and Stevie’s loud voices pull him out of his daydreaming.

The snowman has melted into a pool of water. A carrot and a button resting on the soaked pavement concrete. There’s not an inch of snow in a seven foot radius.

Sam is looking at him torn between amusement and concern.

-x-

New Year’s Eve is shaping up to be a bit of a bummer. First of all, Blaine had thought most of his friends from Kentucky would be spending their New Year’s Eve together, and that him and Sam would join, but apparently everyone’s scattered, and now it’s too late to readjust because even if they went back to New York those two days earlier, no one else would be there anyway. As a result, and second of all, he’s spending his New Year’s Eve with his mom and all of her First Wives Club girl friends. He likes them well enough in small doses - but all together and for an entire evening? For the last evening of 2015? Ugh.

But mostly, it’s still not January, and not-January means not-Kurt.

Blaine looks longingly at his phone and considers breaking his talk-in-person rule. If one makes the rules, one can definitely break the rules, right?

But then again, one made the rules for a reason.

Maybe just a midnight text, wishing a Happy New Year… It’s 8pm, it’s close enough that he could totally entertain himself for four hours, coming up with the perfect text and it wouldn’t be _too_ pathetic.

Well, definitely not more pathetic than spending his New Year’s Eve with his mother and her First Wives Club.

Stupid Sam, should’ve been here an hour ago, if his family hadn’t gotten stuck in traffic coming back from their holiday road trip visiting distant relatives after Christmas. Even if it’s not Sam’s fault, it’s still the fuel to Blaine’s rage. Because despite whatever Sam’s justification, he’s still sorely lacking in non-tipsy company that doesn’t find him too utterly adorable and charming and an example to all men. He texts him, urging to run through the traffic, if he must. Fake going into labor, if he must!

Blaine’s spamming Sam’s inbox with things to do, _if he must_ , when Sam destroys all hope for the night.

_Change of plans. I’m gonna spend the night with the parental units. But I left you a souvenir on the doorstep. You should definitely check it out._

**It better be your replacement for my new best friend, traitor and deserter.**

Blaine hits send before he heaves himself off the couch and avoids eye contact with anyone on the way to the door.

He prepares himself for the freezing cold outside as he opens the door, but not for the sight of Kurt on his front porch, nervously glancing around himself and looking like a deer caught in headlights when he realizes Blaine’s opened the door.

“Kurt?!”

Kurt doesn’t quite manage any sound for what feels like forever. Finally, he seems to relax and smile, “Hi…”

“Hi!” Blaine smiles back. “Come in- wait, no, don’t. I’ll just grab my coat.” Blaine steps inside for the second it takes him to grab his coat and scarf, and then closes the front door behind him, still not quite believing his eyes.

Kurt is still looking at him with a shy smile, possibly more nervous than Blaine’s ever seen him. It doesn’t help that for about a minute Blaine is just making a fool of himself struggling to put on his coat with one free arm and the other in its purple cast, and Kurt’s just watching him do it.

“Kurt, I… What… what are you doing here? I thought-”

“I didn’t want to wait until New York.” Kurt shrugs. “I couldn’t.”

“Okay.” Blaine can’t help the smile that starts to bloom.

“You said you wanted us to talk in person, so I’m here, in person. And, hum… I’m ready to start.” He takes a deep breath and digs into his pocket, taking out an envelope and extending it to Blaine. “Merry Christmas!”

Blaine grins as he takes it, frowning with curiosity. He opens it and fishes out two strips of paper. Two tickets for… “Star Wars…?”

“It’s not the new movie, I know you saw that one already. It’s a marathon. A theater near our campus is doing a Star Wars marathon, and I got us tickets.”

Blaine doesn’t quite know what to say. “I… wow, Kurt… huh, that’s really not what I meant that day. You don’t _have_ to like-”

“I know!” Kurt interrupts. “And I probably won’t. But hear me out. I am so incredibly stubborn. More than that, I’m prideful. And it takes a lot for me to admit I get it wrong sometimes. I thought you were an idiot, and I was wrong, obviously… but I was shouting it from the rooftops and everyone knew I didn’t like you, and worst of all, everyone knew you didn’t like me either. And everyone was telling us we were being stupid about it, but we insisted. Just the thought of admitting to all that was… so... _Blaine_ … I was the person who was ready to watch a terrible bootleg of a terrible play six times in a row just to prove a point.” He cringes and shrugs, and Blaine can already feel himself moving closer. “And I don’t think that’s ever going to change. But I can promise you this: No points to prove about you, except the fact that I am absolutely and totally crazy about you. In the _best_ way.”

Blaine contains his laughter but not his grin. “And you’re proving that with tickets to Star Wars.”

“Yes. I made a point about never watching them, and I’m going back on that. Just like I promise I will, every time it truly matters.” Kurt sounds confident now that Blaine’s not frowning or confused. “I would sooner watch those movies, than lose you.”

“You wouldn’t lo-“

“And I think you’re amazing when you’re excited about something. One way or another, I am going to enjoy that marathon, I promise you.”

Blaine watches him, searches his eyes for any trace of doubt. When he finds none, he sighs and smiles. “Okay, then.”

“But if you, you know, want to take Sam or-”

“No! No, I want you.” Blaine grins, and takes Kurt’s hand, squeezing tight. “I love my Christmas present, thank you, Kurt.”

Kurt beams. “You’re welcome.”

“Well, I didn’t get you anything-”

“You don’t ha-”

“ _But,_ ” Blaine continues, chuckling and fake-glaring, “There is something that I think maybe you might like…” Kurt quirks an eyebrow.

Before he can lose his nerve, Blaine reaches up, hand over the back of Kurt’s neck, and pulls him down, pressing their lips together. Soon enough there are arms wrapped around his shoulders, a body completely pressed to his and he’s pushed back against the door – which is a good thing, because his knees do go a little weak.

Fuck Colin Firth. This is the best first kiss in the universe.

-x-

They’ve spent so much time forcing themselves to keep away, that each moment not being as humanely close as possibly – not being _together_ – is just painful.

Blaine has somehow managed to have the presence of mind of guiding Kurt to the backyard, between the back of the toolshed and the fence, so none of his mom’s friends will spot them while stepping out for a smoke or fresh air. But that’s about as much as his brain can function for the moment.

Every other part of himself is particularly entranced in kissing, touching, tasting and smelling Kurt.

Everything else starts to fade away, the whole world is gone. Coats and scarves come off, and hands go under sweaters, pushing them up, up, up, until eventually they might as well just go too. It’s a challenge, doing all of this with only one good arm and hand, but Blaine is nothing if not determined.

“Fuck, Kurt.” Blaine mumbles into his neck, mouthing at it and relishing in the sounds it elicits from him.

“Yeah, Blaine, god ye-Blaine?!” Kurt gasps pulling back, all but yanking himself away from Blaine. “What the fuck happened to all the snow?” He points at the space around them, that used be covered with smooth, white snow, and is now all but damp, steaming dead grass. “It’s all – wait, how am I practically naked in the dead of winter- oh my god…”

Blaine bites his lip and tries not to laugh.

“Fuck. I forgot.” Kurt huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh, dropping his forehead against Blaine’s. “I always forget…”

Blaine kisses him.

“I always forget you’re a superhero…” he breathes, lacing his arms back around Blaine’s naked back, where a cold chill had been starting to raise goose-bumps now that the _heated_ kissing had paused. “I’m in love with a superhero…”

Blaine shakes his head, a tie knotting itself in his stomach. “I’m not a superhero.”

“We can discuss semantics later, but right now it’s December thirty first, and I’m outside and I’m shirtless and I’m pretty sure I should be dying of hypothermia right now, but instead everything is on fire, and I’m… so… very… okay.”

Blaine lets himself dissolve back into it – doubts and fears about being a hero dissipating with the cold. “Just okay?” he murmurs, kissing right below Kurt’s ear.

“Fine…! Completely awestruck…” Kurt laughs. “Nothing about right now makes sense or seems real… from the fact that I’m physically hot, to the person I’m kissing being the one I hate serenated not that long ago…”

“Is this going too fast?” Blaine asks pulling back.

“No.” Kurt breathes, kissing him before continuing. “I’ve wanted this since before I could admit it to myself. I promise you, Mr. Gentleman, we’re fine.”

“Yeah,” Blaine pretends to casually shrug, still beaming. “We’ve done more than three dates…”

“Way more…” Kurt nods, leaning back into Blaine.

“But is it… you know, special enough? I mean…” he huffs out a chuckle, “we’re literally behind my mom’s toolshed.”

Kurt grins, “We’re alone and secluded, under the stars, surrounded by families and friends celebrating the end of the year and the beginning of a new one.” He shrugs and smirks. “I think romantic extraordinaire fourteen-year-old Kurt would be fine with this.”

“Okay… huh…” Blaine scratches the back of his neck as he thinks. “Just wait a sec.” he grabs Kurt’s coat and puts it around his shoulders before shrugging on his own sweater and jogging back the house.

He returns with two blankets and a handful of candles, and makes sure to “accidentally” lock the back door, on his way back out.

“ _Now_ , romantic extraordinaire fifteen-year-old Blaine would be proud.” He says as he finishes laying out to the scene to a grinning, flushed Kurt.

Everything goes warm again – hot even. Coats are discarded and skin revealed completely. Between kisses and more, neither one notices when the whole street loses its white blanket nor when the windows at the tool shed start dripping with condensation.

But they do finally notice, when – just as Blaine twists his body with a barely stifled moan of pure ecstasy, coming with his hand buried in Kurt’s hair, between his legs – there’s a loud bang.

It’s way too early for fireworks.

They look up, startled, to find sparks and smoke coming out of the fuse box at the top electrical post on the other side of the fence – just a few feet away from them. In a matter of seconds the whole street goes pitch black.

“Fuck.”

-x-

It’s a miracle that they manage to get dressed and hide the blankets and candles before any people start trickling out of the house. Blaine doesn’t push any more of his luck trying to hide them altogether. He does manage to make it look like they came from the front porch and not the back of the toolshed.

Pam is clearly inebriated, much like every other of her friends, and they barely realize what’s happened let alone suspect that Blaine made it happen with his superpowers while climaxing. They barely even notice the lack of snow.

Blaine’s pretty sure it’s the worst idea to light candles around a house full of drunk people, but there’s no other choice, and the whole mission does allow him to get Kurt away from his mom and spare themselves the full hour of gushing and cooing they would have had to endure otherwise. It’s an hour till midnight when Blaine finally manages to close his bedroom door behind the two of them and close his eyes in relief.

“Your mom is nice…” Kurt chuckles. His eyes glint happily in the warm glow of a few candles.

“My mom is drunk.” Blaine rolls his eyes. “And I took out the power for the whole block…” he whimpers.

Kurt roars with laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s hilarious.” Kurt counters, reaching over and grabbing Blaine’s hand, pulling him over to the bed. “It’s so hilarious.”

“Kurt…”

“And such a compliment to me!”

“Kurt!” Blaine swats him over the shoulder with a pillow, even if he can feel his cheeks burning. “What if I’d… What if I’d hurt someone?”

Kurt’s smile fades. He sobers significantly. “You didn’t.”

“I could have…” Blaine starts but Kurt interrupts him with a kiss, and Blaine lets himself be guided out of the panic.

They kiss slowly and softly for what feels like forever. The urgency is mostly gone, and neither of them is particularly eager to have round two in a house full of tipsy middle aged divorcées that would probably find it too adorable if they walked in on them, and ask if they could stay and watch the rest. (Not to mention, all the electronics, too expensive and dangerous for Blaine to accidentally blow up as well)

Blaine’s not quite sure what time it is when he pulls back with a deep breath. “I haven’t apologized yet.” He tells Kurt, moving to hoist himself up on his elbow, hovering over him and using his free hand to cradle his cheek. “I’m so sorry I overreacted that day… I twisted your words into something I know you didn’t really mean.”

“You had some reason for it…” Kurt shrugs, shaking his head.

“Yeah but… I should’ve… I’m just sorry.” He kisses Kurt. “I knew what you were telling me, and I knew that… for you it had to come out that way. And maybe if it had been any other day, I would’ve managed to take it in stride, but I was so exhausted, and in pain, and scared shitless about everything…”

“Scared?” Kurt frowns. “That I would hurt you?”

_Of my powers. Of what they could do. Of what they couldn’t do. Of myself._

But Blaine can’t make himself think about that yet, so he takes Kurt’s unwittingly offered easy way out.

“Well, yeah, that too, I guess. I know it’s probably stupid, but, in the back of my mind, I always felt like you were ashamed of me, and then you said those things and it just-”

“I’m not.” Kurt moves an inch closer, wedges one of his legs between Blaine’s and wraps one arm around his waist. “I’m really not.”

“I know. I think I do. Now, I do.” Blaine sighs, even though something inside of him definitely breaks free, and his chest breathes easier. “Thank you.”

Kurt smiles up at him before he reaches for Blaine’s collar and pulls him down. They’re interrupted by shouting – “TEN, NINE, EITGH…”

“In fact…” Kurt smiles, digging into his pocket.

“SEVEN, SIX, FIVE,…”

He gets his phone out and opens the camera app.

“FOUR, THREE, TWO,…”

He holds out the phone, camera turned towards him, and grabs Blaine’s face with his other hand.

“ONE”

“Happy New Year,” Kurt breathes, before he kisses Blaine, strong and powerful. The flash of the camera registers with Blaine but he doesn’t pull away just yet. He deepens it, threads his fingers into Kurt’s hair and hums with happiness.

“Happy New Year…” Blaine smiles, kissing the corner of his lips, and his cheek. Kurt giggles and pulls away to tap at his phone.

-x-

_Picture of the two of them kissing. Kurt’s hand is holding Blaine’s jaw, thumb digging into his cheek. Blaine is smiling and ruining the kiss slightly (but not really). Their hair is messy, and the collars of their shirts are a little too disheveled._

_Kurt Hummel, posted on 01/01/2016 (with Blaine Anderson)_

**_2016 is already shaping up to be the best. Thank you 2015, for introducing me to such an amazing person, and making it the most interesting ride of my life so far. Happy New Year everybody!_ **

_Rachel Berry, Sam Evans, Noah Puckerman and 47 others like this post._

_Tina Cohen-Chang: (link to YouTube video of Grace Adler doing the I Told You So dance)_

_Mercedes Jones: Wait…. What? (I’m clearly missing too much, living in LA. Last I heard he was the worst person on Earth)_

_Santana Lopez: I’m so moving out of the loft… (but I’m happy for you two. Mostly because it’s gonna be hilarious watching Mulan and Yentl torture you with that video up there)_

_Unique Adams: SO that’s why you ditched us!!!! Whew boy! (Waaaay more than) Fair enough! Happy New Year indeed!! *Fans self*_

_Mike Chang: booyah!_

_Quinn Fabray: You should’ve seen the way Tina was squealing when she saw this. And how she shoved her phone into everyone’s faces! She seems very happy with this news, so I assume congratulations are in order :) Happy New Year, Kurt!_

_Marley Rose: Oh! He’s very cute! Good luck!_

_Rachel Berry: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! WE WIN! THE WOLE WORLD WINS”! WOOHOO! BEST PARTU EVER!_

_Sam Evans: Someone’s drunk… :P_

_Sam Evans: But yay! I’m glad you liked the package, Blainey Boy. Remember this next time you’re accusing me of leaving you alone with the wolves, because I might actually be picking that guy up from the airport and driving him to your place._

_Santana Lopez: Oh, he liked the package alright!_

_Sam Evans: ;)_

_Santana Lopez: Wanky_

-x-

Blaine waits until the credits are rolling on the final and sixth film before he turns to Kurt, eyebrow raised and smile controlled. Kurt is definitely aware of being watched, but he makes Blaine wait for it.

“Well…” he sighs. “I guess it’s nice, finally knowing what you and Sam are always talking about…”

Blaine chuckles.

“As well as 90% of the rest of the world, to be honest. I think I’m now equipped to understand twice the jokes I used to.”

“It’s important to know pop culture properly.”

“I’m just a little bitter this should even be considered as such.”

Blaine pouts a little, in sympathy. “I’m sorry you didn’t like it.”

Kurt shrugs. “I didn’t hate it. It was okay… it was just… _a lot_.” He grimaces, “In hindsight my grand gesture could’ve just been promising to watch one of them every week with you…?”

Blaine smiles and leans over to kiss Kurt’s cheek. “Well, _thank you_ ,” he kisses his lips. “I loved my Christmas gift. But I believe I haven’t given you yours…?” he smiles, and pulls out the envelope from his inside pocket.

“I thought my gift was our first kiss.”

Blaine chuckles “That would’ve been yours months before had you asked for it. This is your _Christmas_ gift.”

Kurt eyes it suspiciously before he takes it with a careful smile. Blaine would bite his lip if here were at all nervous, instead he grins as he watches Kurt pull out the two orchestra seating tickets to _Spring Awakening_. He laughs as the smile on Kurt’s face blooms.

“Something we can _both_ enjoy.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Kurt breathes, throwing his arms around Blaine and hugging him close. “I so wanted to see this before it closes!”

“I know, me too. It turns out we do have interests in common.” Blaine teases. “Shocking!”

Kurt sticks his tongue out before he leans in for a kiss. “Dating you might just turn out to be enjoyable after all.”

“Well, come on, let’s go. I think the nice man over there wants to clean the room…”

They head outside holding hands – just like they’ve been doing ever since New Year’s Eve, a week ago. Kurt helps Blaine with his scarf and beanie before he puts on his own, and they head to Blaine’s apartment. They’ve been spending most of their time there since they came back – mostly because it has doors and walls, but also because Tina and Rachel aren’t allowed there unless they’re expressly invited – which they never are. They still have to put up with Sam whenever he’s home (but he’s only one, and considerably less annoying than either of the girls), and today is one of those days.

Whenever they shuffle through the front door, hands linked and Kurt putting Blaine’s keys back in his pocket (it’s surprisingly hard to open that door one-handed), he still looks at them with a smirk and a glint in his eyes. Today is no exception.

“How was it?” He asks at once. “Did you love it, Kurt? I know you did, don’t lie.”

Kurt throws him a glare. “I most certainly did not _love_ it.”

“He did laugh at some parts.” Blaine grins.

“I’m not saying I hated it! It was _fine_. It’s just… not my thing.”

“Oh well…” Sam sighs. “You tried and that’s what counts. Now Blaine totally owes you awesome sexy times.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, shirking his jacket and dropping it on the couch, on his way to Blaine’s bedroom.

“I totally do…” Blaine mutters, watching him for a moment before shooting Sam a wink and doing the same. “See ya!”

He closes the door with a flourish and grins as he turns to Kurt. He’s already taken care of his shirt and boots and he’s sitting on Blaine’s bed, cross-legged and squinting at Blaine with a smirk. “You totally do.”

Getting himself and Kurt naked one-armed has quickly become Blaine’s specialty.

-x-

Blaine wakes up in the middle of the night, not quite sure what interrupted his sleep, but Kurt’s arm is gone from around his waist and he’s pretty sure the other side of the bed is empty as well. Blaine turns over, with every intention of burying his head in the pillow and probably falling back asleep before Kurt returns from the bathroom or wherever he’s gone. Instead, he finds Kurt’s silhouette, barely lit from the streetlights shining golden through the window and hitting his bare skin. He stands facing Blaine’s open wardrobe. Kurt’s arms are folded over his chest and he’s silently rocking himself, ever so slightly, back and forth.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, effortlessly lighting his honest-to-god bedside candle (when they came back from New Year’s Eve, they decided to take some precautions and eliminate any electronics from Blaine’s room – phones, lamps, everything explodable stays outside, if there’s any chance of sexy times happening – which there always is).

Kurt startles at the sound of Blaine’s voice and the sudden flickering yellow light.

“God, your room gets so creepy like this…” Kurt mumbles, closing the wardrobe, and sitting on the bed, towards Blaine.

“It’s just till I get a better hang of…” Blaine trails off with a blush and Kurt chuckles.

“I was, huh, looking for a t-shirt…” Kurt gestures towards the wardrobe as an explanation, before he bites his lips and adds, “Shouldn’t you be keeping the suit in some locked box under some open floorboards or… whatever…?”

So that was what Kurt was looking at with such concentration.

Blaine shrugs. “Everyone that ever goes in that closet already knows, so…” he opens his bottom bedside drawer and takes out an old, comfortable T-shirt for Kurt. “But point taken. I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks…” Kurt slides it on and crawls over as they both lay back down.

He puts his head on Blaine’s chest and presses in close. It’s the first time they settle in like this, and it makes Blaine frown in confusion, and then smile because it does feel nice to have Kurt curled up into him.

Kurt huffs a laugh. “Of course now that I have a t-shirt you turn into the Human Torch…”

Blaine bites his lip and keeps his giggles mostly in. “I’m sorry… I’ll try not to think nice things about you.”

Kurt looks up with a quirked eyebrow, “You’ll think bad things? Like that’s gonna help.”

They exchange a few chuckles and a couple of kisses, but then Kurt settles back into cuddling, wrapping his arms even tighter for a second. One of his hands comes up to trail the tips of his fingers over Blaine’s arm cast.

“I am so sorry I broke your arm…” Kurt murmurs and Blaine draws breath to start on his usual dismiss of the already familiar apology, but Kurt continues, “But I’m almost glad I did… No. I _am_ glad.”

Blaine moves and slides down until they’re face to face. “What?”

“For another couple of weeks, at night, I know you’re right here, even when I’m not.”

“Oh…”

“I know it’s a bit selfish of me, but I sleep a little better, you know? It’s not easy being with someone like you. Even before we… I always worried. And for a few weeks, I don’t have to. It’s like heaven.”

Blaine nods and brushes a few hairs off Kurt’s forehead. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay…” Kurt shrugs. “I know we haven’t said it again… I think I’m saving it for a time when you need to hear or I need to say it, because it already feels so fast my head is spinning, but if you weren’t that guy… the one saving Rachel from a mugging, or me from whatever was about to happen, I… I can’t be sure, but maybe I wouldn’t…”

Blaine frowns, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not what Kurt meant. “You wouldn’t have fallen for me if a microwave explosion hadn’t given me superpowers? Those are some high standards, Kurt…”

Kurt shoves at his shoulder lightly. “That’s not what I meant…”

“I know.”

“I meant that… well, if you’d heard Rachel screaming and you didn’t have your powers, would you have helped her?”

“Of course.” Blaine smiles.

“That’s what I meant.” Kurt shuffles so close he rubs their noses together.

“For the record, I’m sure you’d have done the same, powers or no powers.”

“I think so too.”

“You’re just as brave. Probably more.” Blaine tells him reverently. And then grimaces teasingly. “But please don’t do it. I couldn’t possibly handle worrying like that.”

Kurt laughs. “Are you saying you’d worry more about me than I do about you? You’re either insulting how much I care about you, or my ability to stick up for myself.”

Blaine shakes his head. “Oh, I know you can stick up for yourself, Mr. Hulk. I’ve been on the receiving end of those fists and it wasn’t fun. And that’s not even counting those insults of yours… they pack the meanest punch.”

Kurt smirks, he looks smug and amused as he settles himself back in Blaine’s embrace. They fall into silence for a while, but the conversation has opened the tap and Blaine can’t help looking at his arm in a cast and thinking how Kurt’s not the only one relieved to see it there.

Maybe talking to Kurt will help.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers. Half hoping Kurt’s already asleep and won’t answer.

“Of course.”

“I’m glad you broke my arm too.”

Kurt practically sits up in his haste to gawk at Blaine.

“Not like that!” Blaine pretends to laugh. “But… that day at the.. hold up, with the guns and everyone… I was so scared, Kurt. I’d never been that scared in my life. What if I’d screwed up and got someone killed? What if… what if _I_ ’d killed someone? It was all so intense and chaotic, I have no idea how I didn’t, it’s all a blur, and all I can remember is just how… afraid I was. Of everything.”

“Oh, Blaine…”

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for this… I’m not a superhero, Kurt. I’m just some kid who wanted to make art and help people… running around in a suit doing magic tricks.”

“You don’t have to be one, if you don’t want to, Blaine. But I think you do. You just said it yourself. You want to help people, and as weird as it is, you have a way of doing that better than most. And you know I’ll be here no matter what you choose – I’d probably be happier if you chose to bury that suit and not touch it again, but I don’t think you will. Because I don’t think you’d forgive yourself every time you opened the newspaper and someone was hurt when you could’ve been there to help.”

“But what if I screw up?”

“We’ll deal with that _if_ that day ever comes.” Kurt shrugs like it’s that simple.

“You really think I can do this? I mean… I’m hardly Superman, or… I’m just some kind of freak with some lame-”

“You are not a freak, or lame.” Kurt interrupts, his tone stern. “You want to know what a lame superpower would be? Controlling the weather, but that Storm girl is still a superhero in those X-men movies, and she still gets to be headmistress of the school once the bald guy in the wheelchair dies, doesn’t she?”

Blaine frowns, smiling in his confusion and feeling some of the tension slip away. “You watched X-men?”

“My brother was watching it, and… well, now that you’re… huh, the way you are, they seem a little less stupid, I guess.”

Blaine laughs.

“But what I meant was, I think you should do whatever you _need_ to do.”

Sigh. “I need to help.”

“There you go.” Kurt smiles.

“But that doesn’t mean I will.”

“Blaine, _I_ trust you.” Kurt tells him, hand splaying over Blaine’s heart, soft, but sure. “I can’t promise you’ll be perfect, and I can’t speak for anyone else. But I trust you, and I have all the faith that you’ll be a true hero, and not just some kid running around in a suit doing magic tricks.”

The heavy chains strapped around Blaine’s internal organs loosen so much he barely feels them anymore. “Thank you.”

With a nod and a smile, Kurt settles in, this time it’s clear it’s meant to go back to sleep. No more long conversations to be had, and peace in the air.

“I need to say it now…” Blaine mumbles.

“What?”

“That I love you.”

Kurt cranes his neck so he can look at Blaine. He looks stunningly happy. “Sweet dreams, my hero.”

“I’ll be your hero, but only because you’re mine.”

“Ugh. You’re too cheesy, Blaine, just go to sleep.”

They laugh, almost silent. “Sleep well.”

“Hmm.”

**Epilogue: Carl and The Dynamic Duo**

Steve should’ve known. He’s managed two years of criminal life in the city now, and it was too good to last. Two years without bumping into the two idiots running around town stopping criminals, feeding the homeless and just generally do-good’ing, it was just too much luck and it was bound to run out sooner or later. Three quarters of Steve’s friends had already been arrested thanks to the dynamic duo over there, and they’d warned him, better steer clear of the city. He should’ve heeded their advice.

Instead, he’s now cornered in the middle of an alley, each of them blocking one side of it, and unless Steve can suddenly jump seven feet in the air and climb into closed windows, he was no real way out.

He keeps his hands up and cringes. “You’re the one with the superpowers, right?” he asks towards the smaller guy, dressed in dark red and black, as he starts stepping backwards, slowly, towards the other one – in an equally tight green and black suit (so tight – how do these guys even manage to run? Steve can’t believe he just got caught by two guys in unitards).

The guy in red chuckles.

“That doesn’t mean I’m the one you should be running from,” he says.

“Yup… I’d choose him if I were you.” Steve turns around to face the one in green.

Steve sneers. “I think I’m gonna take my chances with whoever can’t boil me with a flick of his fingers.”

“He doesn’t need to flick his fingers.” Greenie shrugs. “But let me ask you something, Carl. Have you ever dated a superhero?”

“My names’ not Carl.”

“Sure. But have you ever dated a superhero?”

Steve could care less about chitchat, but maybe while he keeps Greenie there talking he can figure out a way to escape. “No.”

“Well, let me tell you what it feels like. Every night he’s out there looking for criminals to get into fights with, you’re staying up because you can’t sleep not knowing what’s happening to the person you love… Do you know what that does to you, buddy? Bags under your eyes.”

“And crankiness.” Reddie adds from behind Steve, and he looks to check if he’s still far way.

“Yes, let’s not forget the crankiness. Overall, it’s just not healthy. It kills you and, if you’re not careful, your relationship.”

 _These guys are together??_ Steve refrains from asking that out loud – he’s not about to sound like a homophobe to a couple of gay vigilantes that kind of have his future in their hands.

“Until one day, you think, why should I stay home while he does that?” Greenie continues, “So, what you do is you take up martial arts. You’re already pretty good with Yoga, so you might as well branch out. And it turns out you’re surprisingly good at martial arts, especially because, like your boyfriend keeps reminding you, you’re stronger than you look. And then you finally hit the streets with him, and it turns out you have much less compassion than your superhero boyfriend does, because all of the criminals are trying to take out the man you really like having sex with, which naturally just makes you really angry. So sometimes you just go off and don’t really know when to stop punching until your superhero boyfriend is pulling you off the poor idiot who tried to kill him in the first place. Suddenly, it hits you, you’re the most dangerous of the two.” Greenie shrugs, grinning under the black mask that keeps the upper half of his face well-hidden. “Anyway, long story short, that’s what happens when you date a superhero, Carl.”

“His name is not Carl, babe.” Reddie says, suddenly right behind Steve, his hands holding on tight to Steve’s wrists and a pair of handcuffs is around them before Steve can so much as flinch. _Fuck_. He _was distracting_ me. Figures. “Why do you always call them Carl?”

“I can’t help it if Carl is the first name that pops into my head in these situations.” Greenie shrugs, as they start walking him to one end of the street.

“It’s rude, babe,” Reddie says. His voice is deeper, and yet it’s much softer – he does sound like a nicer, calmer person. Steve really should’ve gone for Reddie. “And don’t even think of calling our baby Carl…”

“Well, obviously we’re not gonna call our baby the first name that I associate with petty criminals, sweetie,” Greenie says.

“I’m not a petty criminal!”

“I’m sorry, you’re positively badass, Carl. With all your trying to break into a minivan…” Greenie snorts before he goes back to talking to his… boyfriend? Husband…? Steven thinks he can feel a ring on the hand clasped around his bare arm, even through the gloves Reddie is wearing. “Besides, I just know it’s gonna be a girl. I can feel it.”

“Okay, but it’s not gonna be Carla, either.”

“See, I’m rude because I call people Carl for lack of their actual name, but you’ve just insulted every Carla ever.”

“He’s got a point…” Steve mutters. Maybe if he gets their bickering to turn to a full-on fight…?

“I’m sure there are very lovely women out there named Carla, I just don’t want our daughter to have that name. Nothing personal…” Reddie shrugs, and that’s the end of it, for both their fight and Steven’s life. In a matter of seconds he’s handcuffed to a lamp post and Reddie is calling the police.

“Ugh…” Steve moans. “I can’t believe he didn’t even have to use his powers…”

Greenie laughs, “Don’t worry about it, he rarely does… You’re not that pathetic.”

Steve scoffs. “That almost makes me feel better.” He watches Reddie for a moment and then turns back to Greenie “Are you really a martial arts baddass, or is your superpower distracting people with speeches?”

“Well, I can’t help but pull focus, that’s true…” Greenie muses with a grin. “But, I am absolutely capable of kicking your ass in two seconds flat.”

“So you’re having a kid, huh?”

Greenie positively glows. “She’s due in two months!”

Great. Steve couldn’t have waited two months to try and steal that mini van, when the two idiots would be on paternity leave and leave him well alone. “Congrats.” He mumbles.

“Thank you, we’re very excited.”

 _I hope it’s a loud crier,_ Steve wishes.

Reddie comes back, taking something out from his pocket. It’s a water bottle that he opens, puts a straw inside and then carefully places the bottle in Steve’s breast pocket so he can reach it. “Stay hydrated, be cooperative and have a nice night.”

“Bye, Carl.” Greenie tells him with a smile as the two of them start walking away, holding hands between them.

“Rude…” Reddie mutters.

Greenie shrugs. “I’ve been thinking. I still really like Tracy or Hepburn…”

“ _Tracy_? What is wrong with you?” Reddie gasps. “Do you want your daughter to be a s-”

“ _Rude_.”

“Fine, Hepburn is good. I like it, we can settle on that. But what if it _is_ a boy?”

“It’s unisex…”

“I know, but I still don’t like it for boys… Audrey Hepburn is too emblematic nowadays, to name a boy after her.”

“Okay, fine… I like Stephen, I guess… As in Sondheim…”

“ _Uhhh_! Yes! Deal!”

Steve, short for Stephen, keeps his mouth shut and prays that the kid turns out to be a boy. He’s always liked a good irony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My appologies to all the Carl, Carlas and Tracys out there, who I'm sure are lovely in every way :P  
> Kurt and Blaine's opinions are their own.


End file.
